


Like A Rock

by etrix



Series: I'm Not Like This [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sheriff Stilinski, Alternate Canon, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Depressed Derek Hale, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Hurt Derek Hale, Intolerance, Kidnapping, Major Character Injury, Mild Language, Omega Derek Hale, POV Allison, POV Chris Argent, POV Multiple, POV Sheriff Stilinski, Stilinski Family Feels, Werewolf Sheriff Stilinski, life goes on - Freeform, violence against a minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-07-28 06:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 88,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16236185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etrix/pseuds/etrix
Summary: Peter's attack on Kate at the station changed everything. Noah Stilinski was the alpha, and he had to deal with the regular business of being the sheriff of a large county without turning furry. Chris had to make sure Gerard’s visit didn’t ruin his career, his life, or his family in his father’s obsessive war against the supernatural. Allison had to decide if she and Scott had a chance after all, while dealing with the fact that her family was full of creepy sociopaths. Derek Hale didn’t want to deal with any of it, especially not the alpha who's taken his sister’s place.Plus, the Alpha Pack comes to Beacon Hills, but unless they do sometime against the law, they're not the sheriff's problem.





	1. Beginnings Mean Something Else Ended

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to “Look Inside Your Mind”. If you haven’t read it, Look Inside Your Mind diverges from canon at the beginning of 1.11 (Formality). Instead of driving away, Allison tells the sheriff that Kate has Derek in the dungeon under the old Hale house (because Kate was torturing a sentient being and loving it and most people think that’s Not a Good Thing). 
> 
> Contains: Multiple POV, canon-typical violence, canon typical racial/sexual/species intolerance. Events from Seasons 1 through 3a as they fit my story. Stilinski feels, Argent dysfunction, and Scott as the perfect boyfriend.
> 
> AN1: Because Sheriff Stilinski is the alpha, certain things don't happen—like biting a bunch of teenagers to form a pack. No Kanima; no Matt. No Erica and Boyd being kidnapped (and killed). Peter doesn't get revived and Lydia doesn't find out she's a Banshee. (At least not in this fic.) 
> 
> Beta-ed, as ever, by Alecto_Nyx. _Arigato._

Although it was nice to no longer creak when he got out of his armchair, Noah Stilinski wasn't convinced that being a werewolf had any other real benefits. The hospital’s coffee tasted even worse than it had before (something he would’ve bet money on as being impossible). Fast food tasted absolutely _foul_ (but not as bad as the hospital’s coffee). He apparently had a built-in lie detector that wouldn’t stand up in court, and he was going to allow his deputies to lie on their official reports so they wouldn’t be taken to Eichen House as insane.

Fangs formed in his mouth, sharp, pointy, and appearing from _absolutely nowhere._ He breathed and thought of fresh-mown grass until he could force the sideburns back to wherever the hell they came from. He was meditating! He was goddamned meditating, so the Elvis sideburns and T-rex teeth wouldn’t pop into existence when he had his force incident interview his week.

Per regulations, they were bringing in a couple of investigators from outside the county to look into the shooting of Peter Hale. Even if the sheriff knew them (which he probably would), they would have nothing invested in keeping Noah’s secret. They were coming, as required, to make sure the killing had been justified and by the book.

'By the book'. He nearly laughed. Only if the book was by Stephen King.

He went back to breathing and visualizing the shit out of the fresh-mown lawn. He pictured Stiles running the small push-mower over it the way he'd done since he was a pre-teen. Scott, following with a rake to catch the bits that missed the bag. Sometimes the cuttings actually stayed in the bag, but more often they’d ended up thrown around in mock battle until he came out and put his foot down and both Stiles and Scott raked with embarrassed fervor.

Scott… His son’s best friend, his brother in all but DNA, that he’d known since the boys were seven. Scott, who was also a werewolf and had been since January.

For three months, Stiles and Scott had known there was something inhuman stalking people in his county and they hadn’t told him. They’d out-and-out _lied_ to him.

His claws and fangs sprang out.

“Damn it!” The words were slurred. His control was _terrible_. He gave up on the useless meditation and went to change into his uniform. He was on administrative leave, so no patrols, but there was still paperwork. He was nearly caught up with everything, which hadn't happened since just before his swearing-in ceremony in 2006. Every time he thought of his empty ‘to-do hopefully sometime’ pile, he couldn’t help but smile.

Even as he felt the smile stretch his lips, Noah realized that his fangs were gone. He lifted his hand and he had his fingernails back. He rubbed his cheek and his forehead, and the weird hair had also disappeared.

Obviously, reports and crime statistics were more efficient than grass and trees in helping him keep control over this _thing_ that had happened to him.  That was good. He had to be in control, had to be the voice of authority and reason for this meeting.

Most of the downtown deputies had been off-site during the attack at the station, so they hadn’t seen Peter Hale in his red-eyed, furry, hugeness toss people around like basketballs. They hadn't seen Peter Hale hold Kate Argent prisoner with claws to her neck. However, give them a little—eyes unnaturally red, had shrugged off gunfire—and most of the officers' theories had gone to drugs (next favorite: space aliens, but only in jest). Noah had let the talk wash over and around him in the hospital waiting room. All he’d said was that the force incident investigators wouldn’t be interested in speculation.

Then Kate had announced at her arraignment that werewolves were real, that hunters existed, and everyone should be “fucking thankful” that people like her were willing to step up and keep the world safe.

The chatter in the office had redoubled, and the deputies that had been present for Hale’s attack were hounded for details. The number of weird side-eyed looks he’d received had tripled, and he knew he couldn’t put off the talk forever.

Noah had always believed the truth, no matter how embarrassing or fantastic, was the best option in any official situation. It was easier to remember, there was no worry about what you'd told to whom, and it was harder to get tripped up on the stand. It was morally and legally right, and it was just plain better.

Except now.

Allow them to lie? He laughed at himself. Hell, he was going to _encourage_ them.

-o0o-

 

It was over.

He was truly alone.

He’d been so caught up in the hunt for Laura’s killer and dealing with McCall— _trying_ to deal with McCall—that this was the first chance he’d had to let himself... that he'd let himself _know_ he was alone. The last Hale.

He was omega.

He gave himself a year. Tops.

-o0o-

 

Allison wasn’t too proud to admit that she was sneaking around her own home. She just couldn’t handle any more drama. She didn’t want to.

The lawyer— the expensive, exclusive lawyer her parents had called in favors to obtain—had submitted Kate’s statement as evidence of her mental imbalance and need for psychiatric care rather than incarceration. Kate had fired him, doubled-down on her statement that werewolves were real, and no different from rabid raccoons, and pled straight-up not guilty. She’d also re-opened her throat wound and nearly bled to death in the courtroom.

It had been wonderfully dramatic, so instead of dismissing Kate as a loon, the national press had decided to treat it as a mental health talking point. They were still gathered around Beacon Hills like crows at a roadside diner.

At first, she’d felt guilty for being Kate’s relation, but now… Now she felt kind of angry. _She_ hadn’t shot or tortured anyone, and she didn’t support her aunt’s racist garbage, so there was _no way_ she was staying home from the Winter Formal. Jackson hadn’t backed out, (though she wouldn’t have blamed him) and if _he_ was willing to face the gossip, then she could do no less.

Besides, Lydia still owed her a dress, and Allison meant to fully collect on _that_ debt. She just had to get out of the house.

Her dad had gotten a phone call from _his_ father this morning, and apparently, Grandpa Gerard had advice on organizing his daughter’s defense, which made it sound like a military strategy rather than a need to hire a different lawyer (and a psychologist or three). He’d also said he was coming to Beacon Hills.

Dad didn’t want him here, but Mom had already said yes. To say that her dad wasn’t happy was like saying whales were kinda big. And now her parents were shouting in whispers at each other (which they’d been doing quite often since Kate's arrest. She’d heard enough of their “discussions” to learn that Gerard thought Kate didn't deserve to go to jail for what she had done. _And Mom agreed!_

Like, what the hell? People were dead because of Kate. Lots of people.

Allison didn't want Kate to get the death penalty or anything, but she’d needed to be stopped. It was what she’d decided when she'd told Sheriff Stilinski about Kate torturing Derek, and Allison still believed it.

To top it all off, school was _horrible_. Allison was used to standing out as the new kid, but this…

There had been reporters camped out across the street from the school. They’d talked to anyone who stopped long enough, including kids she’d never even shared a class, never spoken to, let alone hung out with. Inside school… Ugh!

The only bright spot was Scott.

Well, Lydia too. And Stiles.

Even Jackson a little, but mostly Scott.

None of them asked if Kate “had really done it” or if she thought werewolves were real, and they didn’t act like being crazy was contagious, (which made her want to scream that Kate _wasn't_ crazy.)

Jackson _had_ looked at her a little differently. Nothing rude or creepy, like some of the other kids, but more like he thought she knew some secret (which she did, of course) and he wanted in on it. Still, he hadn't backed out of taking her to the formal on Friday, so she gave him a pass on the weird behavior, but...

She really wanted to go with Scott.

He’d come up to her in the hall and offered to, you know, just let her talk if she wanted to. When she didn’t want to talk, he’d kept everyone else away. And then he brought her an ice cream cup from the cafeteria! It was just so supportive, and kind and… and _normal_ in a goofy teenage way, and she _needed_ that. She needed someone around her who was ordinary.

Allison couldn’t remember why she’d broken up with him...

Unfortunately, she was stuck going with Jackson, and going to a formal dance with Jackson Whittemore (of THE Whittemore’s) meant getting a proper dress. Getting a proper dress meant leaving the house without being seen by the reporters at the end of their street (easy), _and_ getting past her parents, who were once again having a “discussion” in the other room, (not easy). Mostly because she wasn’t actually going to sneak past them—that would be cruel, but she didn’t want them to have time to stop her either.

“I'm off,” she yelled once she figured she was close enough to the garage door to escape with little fuss.

Her mom popped into the foyer like a ninja. “Where are you off to?”

Allison forced her spine not to fold—she wasn't doing anything wrong. “Dress shopping with Lydia. The winter formal on Friday?” she said with fake brightness.

“You're still going?” Great, she thought. Now her dad had joined the interrogation.

“A bunch of us are going together.” Her father didn't look convinced. “Lydia thinks it'll be a good idea,” she said with a shrug.

Her father rolled his eyes. “Oh well. If a _sixteen-year-old_ thinks it’s a good idea…”

Allison braced herself for being told no. No, she couldn't go to the dance. No, she couldn't go with Lydia today. No, she couldn’t go to school, couldn’t live a normal life.

“No. Lydia's right,” Victoria said and shocked Allison's mind into silence. “Attending the school dance is a logical and efficient way to state that we're innocent of Kate's crimes and that we're not slinking away in the night like cowards.”

“You make it sound like a military campaign,” Allison protested.

Her mother just raised an eyebrow and Allison had a blazing new understanding of her childhood:  her mother treated everything as a campaign. She always had. It was why she’d inspected Allison’s elementary classrooms, and why she’d insisted on going into change rooms with her, and explaining escape routes from every place they’d ever gone. It was as if, at any moment, she thought she'd be forced to decide between attack or retreat.

Her mother was like an apocalyptic doomsayer. With knives.

Oh god. How many people had her mother killed because they weren't entirely human?

“Do you need the car?” her mother asked, voice calm and firm. She was always calm and firm.

Allison shook her head, numb with the weight of all she now understood about her parents.

Her father was filled with active concern now that the shopping trip had been approved. Allison had to assure him she didn't need his credit card. She didn't need (or want) his big, bulletproof SUV, and she didn't want (or need) a couple of his... not friends. Co-workers? Cohort? They took orders from her father, so maybe minions was the best term. She didn't want any of his minions tagging along either.

“We're just going to the mall, jeez! They already have security.”

“Mall cops,” Dad muttered and both her parents sneered.

At least he was done being helpful. Allison took advantage and slipped out the side door.

Allison stared along the side of the house at the line of reporters at the end of the block. They were held back by flimsy wooden barriers and Dad's much less flimsy security people. If she stuck a toe onto the front lawn there would be pictures posted within minutes. It wouldn't last. Allison knew the next big story would eventually happen somewhere else and all the national reporters would be off and running, but until that happened, she and her family were the bugs under the microscope.

However, she wasn’t going out the front.

There were some advantages to living in a modern suburb with its close-packed houses and lack of alleys. When she slipped out the side door, she hopped over their fence into the Fasal's back yard. She strolled along the bricked path to the Fasal’s street, and then it was a casual stroll to the end of the block where Lydia was waiting in her car, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. A low bump of bass provided a slow rhythm, and Allison felt her heartbeat smooth out to match.

Allison took a moment to tidy her clothes, brushing out flakes of fence paint and pulling down her skirt. She took a deep breath, pushed a smile onto her face, and went out to join her friend.

-o0o-

 

Chris Argent resisted the impulse to chew his lip. It was a childhood habit that, according to his father, he should've grown out of years ago. His father had despised all nervous gestures as negative commentary on his parenting.

Privately, Chris thought his father was right for once:  Chris’s nervous ticks _did_ reflect badly on his father’s parenting ability. He tried not to be like his father when it came to rearing Allison, so he couldn’t blame anyone else that she’d taken Kate’s arrest so hard. The two of them had been more like sisters than niece and aunt, and her arrest had shaken Allison. What had done the most damage, though, was knowing Kate had seduced a minor. It was another thing Kate had essentially admitted at her arraignment.

Allison had sat at the table and pointed out that most people called child abusers “monsters”, and what Kate had done to Derek Hale qualified as child abuse. She’d argued that Kate’s actions made her the monster, not Derek.

When the news was filled with stories of teachers being arrested for having sex with their students, why had they been surprised that Allison was applying that label to Kate?

He’d suggested to Victoria that they move to a hotel. Staying at one would cut down on the number of paparazzi able to hang outside their front door, and their daughter wouldn’t have had to jump the neighbor’s fence like a thief just to go shopping with a friend.

Victoria had rejected the suggestion. They had too many weapons and secrets in the house to leave it empty, so he had to watch his daughter suffer in the aftermath of his sister’s bad decisions.

Not that Victoria disagreed with Kate, not completely. She disagreed with Kate’s recklessness, but not the motive behind it. She was furious that Kate’s actions endangered them all, but not with the actions themselves.

She was far more ruthless than Chris was sometimes comfortable with, but at least she loved Allison and only wanted what was best for their only child. It was why she’d agreed to Allison dropping archery. It had gone against centuries of tradition. It allowed for the possibility that Allison wouldn’t be a Hunter. It was “not how things were done” in hunting families. Yet Victoria had done that. For Allison.

Which led him to his next major concern:  Gerard's impact on Allison.

He understood why Gerard was coming, and there was no argument that could deny their father the right to be close to his only daughter. However, that didn’t mean Gerard should stay _here,_ in his home, with his family. Forget politeness or clan solidarity, he’d argued. The man was a liar and a manipulator. He never did anything, _said_ anything, if it didn’t bring him some kind of reward. When he married Chris’s mother he took the Argent name, thinking it would make him some kind of top dog in the hunting community. But the Argents were matrilineal and he’d become merely Anna Argent’s husband.

Chris didn’t know if his father had ever tried to be an Argent, if he’d ever believed in the Code. He’d certainly pretended to in front of his wife and her sister Elizabeth—the head of the U.S. branch of the Argent Clan. Gerard had said the words, but Chris thought he’d always remained a Mather, and now, Chris suspected he’d raised Kate as one, too.

Mathers believed that violence was inherent to any “Godless Creature” (their capitalization, not his), and the only way to protect the world was to be proactive—to kill first and regret nothing. The exact argument Kate had used at her arraignment.

Victoria had also been born a Mather, and she showed some of that same ruthlessness when it came to hunting, but she also loved being in charge of their small family. When Allison had asked to stop her archery, Victoria had agreed. They’d discussed it, she’d thought about it, and then she’d made the decision. Then she’d stood up to her uncles, and Gerard, and all her male relatives. t had been impressive, and Chris had never loved her more than he had at that moment.

It brought him back to the decision he wished she'd make now: send Gerard to a hotel, instead of having him in their house. There was no reason that Gerard couldn't stay with his team at one of the hotels around town. Sure, none of them were rated higher than 4-stars, but they didn't charge by the hour either.

It was a discussion he had lost to Victoria.

He wished Victoria could see how toxic Gerard actually was, but she couldn’t. She didn’t particularly like Gerard, but the Mather clan made a thing about respecting your elders. Or maybe she was willing to go along with it because she hadn’t forgotten there was an unknown beta out there somewhere, and Kate’s people had also been arrested so they were short on manpower. Maybe it was about showing a solid front to the press. He didn’t know why she’d agreed to host Gerard during his stay, but she had.

There were times Chris wanted to take over the decision-making for fear that Victoria would violate the Code, but he didn’t do it. He couldn't.

He would argue with Victoria, point out flaws in her logic. He would stall and distract, but he would not disobey. She’d ordered him to harry Derek Hale to find out the name of the alpha who’d taken over Beacon Hills, and Chris had done that. She’d told him to harass Jackson Whittemore because he might be the second beta. He’d done it, despite his skepticism. He’d done it because _he_ _was_ _an_ _Argent_.

Between his mother’s training and then his aunt’s, he was fully aware of the weight of the history and traditions attached to being an Argent. Their name meant something more than brutish prejudice and violence (unlike the witch-hunting Mathers).

He was proud to be an Argent—to carry that weight—so he was surprised by how much he didn't want any of it to fall on Allison.

Allison was intelligent, competent, and physically fit, which made her perfect for the role of leader. She was also kind, empathetic and open with her emotions, and those qualities did not. They made her a wonderful human being though. Someone Chris was proud to know. Someone he'd fought to protect when it looked like she would take a different path, away from the fighting and killing.

Now she knew. Knew what they were. Knew their true heritage and she was upset. Upset, confused and vulnerable.

And Gerard—that cold, son of a bitch—wanted to be in the same house as her...

Chris stopped staring out the window at the fence and went to argue with his wife some more.

-o0o-

It took a lot for Sheriff Stilinski to stand in front of his people in the ruins of the station to discuss the events surrounding Kate Argent's arrest and Peter Hale’s death—to stand before them and ask for their judgment.

None of the rural officers had been around when Peter attacked. None of them had seen what Peter was, so it was just his people from the city office: the ones who’d been there, who’d seen him get attacked, who’d been attacked themselves.

On the drive over, he’d continually debated the wisdom of explaining anything to his people, but cops were just as fond of juicy gossip as anybody else, and the sheriff was sure the story had become more lurid with each telling. Now he was standing in front of a bunch of cops and telling them they'd imagined none of the craziness.

Only 40 officers and staff, out of a possible 800. Easy.

"… you can talk to whoever you think will help you deal with it, but they'll have no reason to believe that you aren't crazy or drugged," he said. Tara and Newton nodded their heads. Lassiter might’ve been nodding too, but his movement also might’ve been a side-effect of the nerve damage he’d suffered from being thrown over the front desk. Whatever the reason, it was nice to think he had Lassiter’s support. Noah could already tell it wasn’t universal.

“What did happen, Sheriff?”

Case-in-point:  Ty Janowski. Janowski had been on traffic patrol when Peter Hale had ripped through the office. He'd come in after the fact, after Peter's dead body reverted to human. He had no first-hand reason to believe whatever tales were being told. However, more relevant to his current belligerence was his attitude. Two years in and Janowski still wanted police work to be _CSI:  Miami_ , with the slo-mo and the big reveals

Noah knew Janowski had applied for positions in L.A., San Francisco, Las Vegas and Houston, sure that all he needed to shine was a bigger audience. Right now, all he had was an audience of 32, but he was making the most of it.

“How long have _you_ believed in monsters, Sheriff?”

Janowski’s tone might have been belligerent, but his posture said betrayed, and his stance was echoed in nearly a third of the people in the room. Astiago, who’d been so solid at Noah’s back in the cave, looked both worried and uncomfortable. The other two-thirds of his staff had on their best 'unimpressed cop' faces, meaning judgment withheld.

Augustin Trejo, his oldest and most senior deputy, the one Noah had done his ride-along with nearly 14 years ago, was doing origami like he always did at staff meetings, except he was folding wolves instead of ravens. It made the sheriff hope that Gus had already decided in his favor, and thinking that made it easier to say what needed to be said. He took a breath. “For those who weren’t here that night, this is what happened.”

The sheriff told them nearly everything—finding Derek being tortured in the dungeon, Kate’s arrest, his suspicions about her involvement in the Hale fire. Peter Hale's dramatic entrance, the fight. He didn’t mention Allison’s part in it. After all, he’d promised her.

By the time he got to the end, his throat was rather sore. “Peter Hale, in the form of a beast, attacked this station with the intent of killing Kate Argent. Possibly in revenge for the arson deaths of his family.”

Lieutenant Jason Bungalon was the leader of the county SWAT Team and their lead hostage negotiator. He was neutral about everything until he wasn't because that was his job. Right now, he used that same talk-the-crazy-person-down-from-the-ledge neutrality when he said, “He bit you.”

Noah’s shoulder throbbed even though the wound was long gone. “Yes, he did.” And damn him for that.

“And he was a werewolf.” This time it was Tara Graeme asking the question. Her tone was also neutral, except Tara was never neutral unless she didn't want to commit. She was his Chief Deputy. If she turned on him...

“Unfortunately, it's the only explanation that fits.”  Noah shifted his weight, still surprised at the lack of ache from his hips and knees. Heart disease, arthritis, bursitis—so many things he was now, apparently, immune to.

Yay?

“So that means _you're_ a werewolf.” Astiago’s voice was quiet, bleak. She was a devout Catholic, Noah remembered, and it was unlikely the church had anything good to say about lycanthropes.

“All indications...” He stopped, looked at the people gathered in front of him. They were cops—detectives, deputies, and peace officers. Even his civilian support personnel were police in attitude. None of them would have good things to say about lycanthropy. It was a myth, something only the crazy or deluded bought into. Now here he was, about to ask them—a room full of cops—to believe in werewolves. To believe in him. To lie for him…

His stomach knotted, his mouth dried up, and his palms started to sweat. This was harder than asking Claudia to marry him

He took a breath. “Would it help if I said the stereotype is wrong? That, just like people, werewolves can be good, bad and everything in between?”

“You _really_ believe you're a werewolf!”

That was Cordova. He'd been at the dungeon when Peter attacked, helping to process the scene. Something Haigh was more than quick to point out as he jumped to the sheriff's defense. When Janowski added his doubts to Cordova's, Lassiter and Newman added their shouts to Haigh's. If Stilinski didn’t step in, it was going to turn into a brawl.

“Hey!” he tried a couple times. They ignored him and that pissed him off. “That's enough!” His voice almost rumbled which was cool, but more impressive was everyone shutting up and chilling down.

He raised his left hand and showed them his claws. When he spoke, fangs slurred his speech. “Right now I can't control them very well. They come out when I get annoyed.” He looked pointedly around the room.

The silence became thick. Hands hovered near weapons.

Trejo snorted. “Don't get him angry,” he said. “You wouldn't like him when he's angry.” It was enough to get most of them smiling. A few even laughed in nervous appreciation.

Janowski didn’t join in. “You think this is a joke?”

Gus shrugged still folding his origami wolf. “I always did like the Hulk.”

“So, you're okay letting a monster patrol our streets.”

Tara and a couple others protested, but Gus just gave another shrug. “Sheriff's not a monster until he does something monstrous. And considering how long I've worked with the man, I'm betting that'll happen never.”

“But he's dangerous.” That was Astiago.

Wanda LeVey, the senior civilian officer who conspired with Tara to keep them all organized, gave a short laugh. “You're all dangerous. You all carry guns and mace and Tasers.”

Janowski sneered. “We're cops—”

Wanda sneered right back.  “So was the guy who shot Bernard Bailey. And how about the guys who beat the crap out of Rodney King?”

“Wanda,” Tara said, soothing and warning both.

Wanda didn’t stop. “I can go on. There's lots more.” Voice and posture dared someone to contradict her. Nobody did.

The sheriff lifted his hand to get their attention back. He noted his claws were gone (hoped his sideburns were gone too). “Anybody can be dangerous in the right circumstances. If you don't know that, then we haven't trained you right.” There was a smattering of awkward agreement. “Besides, we're not talking about the world. We're talking about here—Beacon Hills. Which has always been weird." There were a couple hesitant nods. Gus just kept folding his wolves.

Noah placed his hands on his service belt, reassured by its familiar feel. "You are allowed to have whatever opinion you like about me being a werewolf, but I couldn't let any of you go back out there blind. I couldn't let you patrol the streets and answer calls, when something like this—" He forced his claws back out. "—could be waiting for you. I am looking at ways to add or alter our equipment to protect against attacks by … non-humans—"

"That's going to be fun to budget," Tara said, unimpressed.

Noah gave her an apologetic shrug. "Something else you should know: apparently, Beacon Hills is, actually, a beacon for the supernatural.” Noah ignored skeptical snorts. “Jakob Haale’s diary says he was ‘drawn here’—right here. Jacob _Hale_ brought his whole werewolf family with him." There were a couple startled looks, followed by thoughtful frowns. He was happy to see Bungalon and Astiago wearing them.

"Yeah,” he said. “Werewolves were living here, peacefully, for over 150 years." Again, there were some thoughtful looks.

"Now, anybody who doesn't want to work here, knowing they're at risk from 'animal' attacks, can talk to me about it. Or go to Tara or Gus, if that's easier," he said. "You can resign. You can transfer out. You can take some vacation or go to one of our staff therapists. This is a big adjustment for all of us.”

Lassiter was the first to speak up. “I’m sssss... Sssst....  I’m not moving.” Poor Tim. Permanent desk duty unless something healed up abnormally well, (and damn Derek Hale for mentioning that was something an alpha’s bite could do). Noah shook the thought away. It was early days yet. Lassiter could heal up fine on his own—no intervention required.

Lassiter’s statement was followed by Tara Graeme’s. Deputy Haigh, Detective Newman and Lieutenant Bungalon were next. Wanda, Rita and Pete—all the civilian officers present—said they were good with it. (“You already growl.”) Then it went around the room. Most everyone said they were okay with the sheriff’s new alternate shape—although Stilinski thought a couple only said yes because everyone else did—until there were only six deputies left. Gus hadn’t said anything, but then, he didn’t need to. Stilinski looked at Cordova who squirmed. “I gotta think about it, Sheriff,” he said half-pleading, half-embarrassed. “I can’t wrap my head around it.”

Stilinski nodded, accepting. Cordova was a science guy through-and-through. Two plus two was four and Bigfoot wasn’t real, except maybe now it was. To be honest, the sheriff knew exactly how Cordova felt.

All eyes turned to Astiago.

Three years on the force, and she was turning into a good cop. She remembered faces. She remembered histories and rumors. And she was kind. Need a nervous witness coaxed into talking? Get Astiago. Got a suspect feeling guilty but unwilling to confess? Astiago. Small traumatized child? Astiago.

Right now she looked like someone had lit a firework under her seat.

“You need time to think about it, too?” he asked her. She nodded gratefully.

Janowski pushed away from the wall. “Oh, come on, Tigger! What’s to think about? He’s a fucking werewolf.”

Astiago turned to glare at Janowski. “I like my job, okay? And I like this town. So I need to think about it.”

Before Janowski could respond, their half-broken front door made a distinctive crunchy sound. It was a bit of a process to open since it had only one working hinge, and that one screeched like the wail of the damned run through a dub-step modulator. It made a good replacement for the cheap electronic chime that had been in place since the station was built in the 80s. But it had been seven days. It should’ve been fixed already.

He looked at Wanda, brows up in question. Her chin lifted. She was on it; she'd explain later.

Janelle Lassiter stuck her head in. “I'm sorry, but I have to get Tim back to the hospital.” Janelle was a doctor, which was the only reason her brother was allowed out. She’d been kind enough not to try to force her way into their meeting, but even her tolerance was limited.

The meeting broke up with a reminder that any of his people could talk to either Tara, Gus, or Wanda if they didn't want to talk to him. They could even go to Bob Garnsley over at the courthouse, though he'd refused to come to this meeting citing 'too much work'. Truth was, Garnsley was angling to become sheriff in next year’s election. Noah briefly wondered if any of the people he’d talked to today would take the tale to Garnsley, and what Garnsley would do about it. Then he pushed the thought away. He had something more important on his mind.

He waved his senior people to follow him into his office. Gus jiggled his coffee cup, so Noah gathered Tara and Wanda into his office.

“What’s with the door?”

“Waiting on parts. It was installed ten years ago?”

He laughed. “More like fifteen.”

"Yeah." Wanda nodded. “They don’t have those in stock, anymore.”

Noah sighed. The station was old. Built in the 80s, it had been expanded, remodeled, and features had been cobbled onto it, but it was still old. Talk of building a new one—expedited after 9/11—had stopped after the financial crash of 2008. The city’s investments had disappeared just as everyone else’s had.

"Thanks, Wanda," he said. “Remind them that we have assault rifles in our vault, and whatever other dangerous things are still on the premises.”

She gave him a look indicating that she hardly needed the reminder, before leaving. He and Tara Graeme reviewed their personnel while they waited for Gus to get his refill, which probably included listening to whoever had cornered him by the coffee machine.

“Lopez will probably go, but he doesn't like the job anyway,” Tara said, resting her cast-covered arm on his desk. The sheriff agreed with her assessment. Police work had always been just a part of Lopez's plan to get into law school.

“Astiago?” he asked. Tara paused. Her head tilt was non-committal. “Damn it,” he muttered in response. Astiago's transfer would be easy enough: her grandmother lived near Barstow and the sheriff there was looking for people. A simple phone call and a letter of recommendation and Astiago would be in. He'd be sorry to see her go.

Gus walked in before they could get to Janowski, but that was okay. The sheriff already knew the man wasn't staying.

"So, the supernatural is real," Gus said. “So much about Beacon Hills makes more sense, now.”

“It does,” Noah said, his tone wry but easy. “So let's speak of our instances of phenomenal, institutional blindness.”

“How much have we missed or dismissed because the only workable explanation was unbelievable?" Tara said. She grabbed the ruler from his desk, but he took it back before she could push it under her cast to scratch whatever itch had developed.

“Exactly,” Noah responded as he put his ruler in his desk drawer. "Gus, I want you to go back over the cold cases. Look at them with the understanding that the bogey man is out there—”

“Which ones?” Gus asked. "Vampires and bigfoot and ghosts?"

“Until we know for sure...” Noah gave him a helpless shrug. “We take it one step at a time. And a review of our open cases is the first step.”

“Missing persons,” Gus suggested. “Like, maybe a monster dragged them off into the woods on the way to grandmother's house?” He shot Tara slyly amused look.

Tara ignored the attempt at a joke. “Or maybe someone got bit or changed or otherwise freaked themselves out, and took off scared, leaving their family behind to file a missing person report.”

“That.” Stilinski pointed a finger at them. “That is exactly what I want you looking into,” he said. “Find me somebody whose family is missing them.”

“And if the missing person is a monster? Cave dwelling, meat-eating monster?” The sheriff didn't really have an answer to that except he was a now bad-ass monster too, and could be trusted to take out any horror movie monsters in his jurisdiction.

His senior deputies argued with him a bit longer, but even as he acknowledged the naive optimism of his comment, Stilinski had to believe that not all the monsters were monstrous. Derek Hale certainly wasn't. (Grumpy and depressed, yes; evil, no).

Once his two senior deputies left, he raided the break room for coffee (and chocolate chip muffins—yes!) to fuel the next major task on his schedule: paperwork. The arrest of Kate Argent and her minions, the attack on the station, Lassiter's injury, plus the officer-involved fatalities here at the station. Individually, they were a helluva lot of paperwork. Combined it was more like a shit-ton.

Peter Hale's death added some even odder challenges, even though the autopsy hadn't revealed the presence of any drugs that would explain how a supposedly catatonic burn patient had left his hospital room and just ripped through five experienced officers. How he’d shrugged off bullet after bullet, but been killed with a simple knife.

Kate Argent, on the advice of her lawyers (or ignoring the advice of her lawyers—it was hard to tell) had stated at her arraignment that all the Hales had been werewolves, meaning Derek Hale _was_ a werewolf, so everything Kate had done had been pro-active self-defense and in defense of humanity. It could've been the set up for an insanity plea, but she hadn’t said anything about Pete or the sheriff being werewolves, and that kind of made Noah suspicious.

Still, nothing he could do about Kate Argent now. She was in the hands of the lawyers and psychologists.

-o0o-


	2. History Is a Myth Told to Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison and Scott talk. Chris and Kate don't.

# History Is a Myth Told to Children

The morning after the Winter Formal, Allison stayed in bed just being happy.

Her parents weren’t expecting her downstairs this morning. At least that’s what her dad had told her when she’d walked in the door last night (five minutes ahead of curfew—thank you very much!). She didn’t have any chores that needed doing, so she was going to take advantage of every moment she could to dodge the weirder parts of her life. She just wanted to think about last night.

It had been fun watching Lydia deal with a star-struck Stiles instead of ignoring him as she usually did. It became even more fun when Stiles had stopped being overwhelmed by Lydia and talked her onto the dance floor. Allison wasn’t sure they’d ever be boyfriend/girlfriend, but she could see how they could have a great friendship.

That had been the second nicest part of the dance.

Halfway through, Allison thought it would be the best part, because Jackson had gotten drunk and turned into an asshat as soon as Lydia and Stiles had sat down with them, and Allison had wanted to kick him. To be fair, sitting with Lydia and Stiles probably hadn’t helped Jackson’s mood, but still! Jackson had shown none of the charm he’d had when he’d asked Allison to the dance.

When he’d gone for more food and hadn’t come back, Allison had been relieved. She’d expected to spend the rest of the night sitting at the table, and then Scott had turned up.

Her phone dinged a text alert.

_‘Had a great time last night. Thx. You looked awesome, btw.’_

When Scott arrived they’d stolen a dance together then another. They’d left before Coach Finstock could regroup and kick Scott out.

_‘Wanna get burgers later? @Mengos’_

Mengo’s was Allison’s favorite burger place in Beacon Hills.

_‘Or cld go to park. Avoid crowds’_

Mengo’s was the favorite burger place of _a lot_ of the people in Beacon Hills. On a Saturday, it was sure to be filled with people who would point at her and _whisssper_.

_‘we cld bring burgers tothe park but we’d end up fighting teh geese for r fries’_

‘Never fight geese,' she texted back. 'They're mean and fight dirty'

They’d spent the next few hours just walking and talking, and Scott had been everything she remembered him being at the start of the year: goofy, kind, and sweet. At one point, he’d tried to be serious, but Allison hadn’t wanted serious. It was the Winter Formal! She wanted simple things. Normal teenager things, like holding hands with her boyfriend.

Well, she couldn't have that, because Scott wasn't actually her boyfriend anymore, but she could have other things. Things that made no mention of crazy aunts, werewolves, or death, and Scott had given her that.

He’d been _wonderful_!

_'that isn't a no'_

_'but up to you, of course'_

She rolled over and read the texts again. It was obvious he still wanted to be with her. He'd wanted to kiss her last night, (and she'd wanted to kiss him) but he'd been a gentleman. If they went to the park, they could maybe be private (more private than at a high school dance, at any rate), and then maybe she'd steal that kiss.

Mind made up, she texted him back. ‘I’d like that.’ Both the burgers, and whatever happened next.

Allison smiled as she got out of bed. She smiled as she washed and fussed with her hair. She happily weighed the pros of jeans (warm, casual) versus a cute flippy skirt (cute, flirty), before deciding on the jeans (in case they _did_ go to the park). She put on a ruffled shirt that was flirty to balance out the jeans. A little mascara and lip gloss (casual, casual—they weren’t getting back together), and she was good to go.

She skipped down the steps heading for the kitchen for a quick snack. Her mother was waiting in the den.

“Allison,” she called as soon as Allison’s foot hit the front hall.

Allison paused, smile dropping away. “Yes?”

“Come here please,” her mother said. “I’d like a word.”

Allison quickly reviewed the last twelve hours of her life. She’d come home on time. She’d slept. There was nothing there that her mother could be unhappy with. “Can I grab a snack first?”

Victoria appeared in the doorway. “We can talk in the kitchen.”

Allison couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or bad, but she followed her mother into the kitchen. Allison had planned on just grabbing a granola bar, but with her mother there, it became a sit down meal.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Allison asked as Victoria heated the fry pan for scrambled eggs.

“Now that you know the truth of things, that monsters are real,” Victoria hesitated and Allison braced herself. “Your father and I are of the opinion that you should begin training again.”

“I don’t want to be a hunter,” Allison rushed to say. Because she didn’t want to torture people. Or kill them. And if she didn’t say it now, she wouldn’t have the courage later.

“Not all creatures are as… _harmless_ as Derek appeared to be.” Her mother’s mouth twisted as if the words themselves were sour. “It would merely be self-defense training, specialized, but not really any different than any of the other classes you’ve taken.”

It seemed innocent, but Allison wondered if there was a catch. Still… “That might be fun.”

Victoria’s shoulders dropped and some of the lines around her mouth disappeared, and Allison realized that her mother had been more worried about her response than made sense. Unless the families had been pressuring her about Allison’s training.

“And you should consider taking up your archery again.” When Allison had dropped out of archery, both her grandfathers and various aunts and uncles had sent weird emails urging her to reconsider. Her mother’s father, Grandpa Paul, had even offered to buy her a top-tier compound bow.

At the time, Allison had refused because A) her parents had already tried bribing her (duh!) and B) compound bows weren’t even allowed in Olympic competitions. It made more sense now, though: compound bows were what hunters used. So many of her childhood memories made more sense now.

“Is that also something Grandpa Gerard will ask about?”

Allison watched her mother twitch around the kitchen, straightening the towels and shifting the tins on the counter. Unnecessary actions that her mother would never normally make. Given how careful Victoria was about not looking at her, Allison figured this was just as important as the defense training.

“Not just Gerard,” her mother confirmed. “Aunt Elizabeth has mentioned it.”

To give herself time to think it over, she drank some of her orange juice. There really wasn’t any reason _not to_ practice her archery. There was a certain Zen to archery that could, maybe, be a nice counter to the craziness that was the rest of her life. However, she didn’t want to be a hunter, and she wasn’t going back into competition.

“How much time would you expect me to put in to training?” she asked.

“Six hours of hand-to-hand and four of archery per week.”

Allison grimaced. Ten hours, not including travel, on top of her AP classes and chores. Ugh. “Three hours of self-defense, and two of archery? I’ve got mid-terms coming up.”

Her mother looked at her, that cool, impersonal look that meant she was weighing options. Allison kept her head down and ate her eggs. Then she decided she shouldn’t have to hide from her own mother. “Why is this so important? I mean, my personal danger level hasn’t changed just because Aunt Kate’s been arrested. Or because I know about werewolves.”

Her mother gave a small smile. “Astute question, Allison.” Allison could almost feel a phantom hand giving her a pat on the head. She buried her irritation by eating some more breakfast. It gave her mother some time to think of her answer.

“I do, honestly, believe that you should begin more intensive training as soon as possible. Just knowing about the supernatural can attract it to you,” Victoria said calmly, wiping the counter of non-existent crumbs. “You notice it more, are less likely to dismiss what you’ve seen as mere shadows, and in turn, it notices you noticing.” She folded the dishcloth with a snap. “Besides, your grandfather will ask.”

“Oh,” Allison sighed. “Makes sense, I guess. Kate _is_ his daughter.”

“Yes, well.” Her mother paused unhappily. “He’ll make a point of suggesting—insinuating—that you should give up school and become a Hunter. That being a Hunter takes precedence over any other career path you might choose. Whatever he says,” Victoria continued. “Remember that you have your father’s and my support in whatever you decide to do.”

Allison’s chest swelled and she felt a little buoyant.

“But it would be best if you just go along with him for the duration of his visit.”

Allison deflated. “How long will he be staying for?”

“He’ll be staying to help with Kate’s legal defense.”

She dropped her gaze to the pale yellow blobs on her plate, appetite gone. “Oh.”

It was going to be a long year.

-o0o-

 

It had been a long drive to the prison where Kate was being housed. Long and hot, and Chris had been filled with a futile rage the whole time.

Actually talking with his sister—her looking pale and tragic on the hospital bed—wasn’t easing his anger, because his sister was a selfish maniac to go along with being headstrong and stubborn.

"You can't go around _saying_ that." His teeth were grinding so hard they probably registered as a small earthquake.

"But the cops have to," she said with a smug laugh. Her voice was rough, but her words were clear. Unfortunately. "The police at the station saw Peter Hale, all furry and huge. They can't claim it was a mass hallucination. And Derek was all fanged out in the basement when the sheriff and his posse arrived. They have to tell the truth on the stand and then everyone will know I did the right thing."

Chris rubbed the bridge of his nose. It didn't help with the tension.

"Kate, talking like that isn't going to get the charges dropped or reduced," he pointed out.

She shrugged, one shoulder up and down, as if they were talking about which wine to have with dinner. "They can't get me on the Hale fire because Peter very helpfully killed all my co-conspirators." She smirked. "Too bad I can't thank him for that."

It took a moment for Chris to absorb the stupidity of what she'd just said—what she'd admitted to. He slammed his hand on the arm rest. The guard at the doorway shifted, ready to intervene.

"Are you fucking _stupid_?" he shouted as quietly as he could. "You realize that they are recording us."

Kate just looked bewildered. "They're not allowed to do that."

"Of _course_ they are. I’m not your lawyer." Chris reminded himself that she didn’t know the sheriff had recorded them at the station after her arrest. He’d protested, but their regular lawyer had explained the limitations of legal privilege to him _very thoroughly._ Surely, Kate had received the same information. "Do you really think they’re going to give us any privacy _in a jail_?"

She stared at him for several long moments and he thought, hoped, that she finally, _finally_ , understood what kind of shit she was in.

"I can't talk to you?"

He hung his head. " _Of course_ you can talk to me, but not about the trial. Not about the charges. Not about _any_ of that."

Another long moment. He met her look, and didn't recognize the woman looking back at him.

"Then what's the point of you being here?" She looked over his shoulder. “Guard!” Her voice was scratchy, but still loud enough to bring the guard over.

“Time to go, sir,” she said, hands on belt.

Chris stood. He didn’t want to…

He wanted to stay. To talk to his sister. Not as hunters, but as family. They used to be closer. They used to be a team. When did that stop?

"Sir, I believe it's time for you to go?"

"Yeah. Yeah.” He turned halfway to the door—to say what? He didn’t know—but when he looked at Kate she had her eyes closed. As if he no longer existed in her world.

He was halfway to his SUV when he realized that the visit had ended before he'd had a chance to warn her that their father was getting involved. It took him a long time to admit that even if he went back in, Kate probably wouldn’t agree to see him.

-o0o-

 

Lunch with Scott was supposed to distract her from the yuck that was her home life, but it wasn’t working, and that was freaking Allison out.

It was supposed to be a simple burger, a casual date where she could test whether she really did want to get back together with Scott, but Scott had brought Stiles along—well, Stiles had driven Scott over in his jeep, but _he hadn’t left_. Instead, he kept glaring at Scott and then nodding at her, like he was ordering Scott to kiss her, or something.

That was weird, but Stiles was generally weird. What had her worried was Scott’s behavior. Each time Stiles nodded at her, Scott would flinch and shake his head in return. He’d squirmed in his seat like a 3-year-old on the drive over, and hadn’t met her eyes except once.

A couple bites in and Stiles had dragged Scott away for ‘a conversation’ leaving her alone at the small table.

Did he not want to get back together? She wasn’t getting that feeling, but how could she know when he wouldn’t look at her!

Allison shredded her bun and tried not to watch Stiles lecture Scott. Finally, (finally!), they headed back to the table. Stiles pushed Scott down on a seat. “Scott has something to tell you.”

Allison turned to look at Scott, who looked petrified. “What is it?”

“I… I… Maybe it could wait?” he squeaked.

Stiles whacked the side of his friend’s head. “Honesty, right? That’s what Dad says. Don’t let him dodge this,” he said to Allison as he grabbed his bag. “I’ll see you later.” He gave them both a small salute and walked away. Scott watched his friend go like he was being left to die.

It would’ve been funny, except Allison was worried—seriously worried. What was wrong with Scott? Was he sick? Did he have some disease? She forced her voice to be calm. “Scott?”

He looked around, but there was no one to save him. The seating area was empty. He swallowed again. “You know Stiles tells me everything, right? I mean, we don't have any secrets between us.”

“I kind of figured,” Allison said, confused. “You’re not a couple, are you? Like a friends-with-benefits, thing.” It was only half teasing. It wasn't inconceivable; she knew how close the two were.

Thankfully, the horrified look on Scott's face was an answer on its own. It was so comic-book (and such a relief) that Allison had to laugh. “Oh my god! So glad,” she managed to choke out. “I like Stiles, but... no.”

“Definitely no.”

They shared a laugh, half relief, half embarrassment.

“Has this got anything to do with us at all?” she asked finally. “I thought, maybe, you regretted inviting me out today. That maybe we were rushing into this.”

“No,” he said on a gusty exhale. He looked at her, eyes wide, earnest and sincere. “I don't regret anything. And we can rush as fast as you like. Or slow down. Whatever speed you want to go, I'll keep up.”

Allison smiled. Scott was too good to be real. In fact, he deserved a kiss for that little speech, and she wanted to be able to give him that. However…

“If you’re not double-thinking about us, you know, trying again, then what’s bothering you?”

Suddenly there was at least a foot of space between them, and Scott was back to twitching in his seat. “It's kinda hard to... I mean, I'm not even sure it's a good idea, but Stiles said—and his dad backed him up!”

Before Allison could fully process that, Scott took a deep breath: “Doyouknowaboutwerewolves?”

It left Allison blinking.

“He told you?” she asked. “Was he bitten?”

“You _do_ know about werewolves!” Scott said happily. “I told Stiles you couldn't've, but he said your dad and your Aunt Kate were right there when Mr. Stilinski got bit, so you guys were probably talking about it at dinner, since, you know— _hunters_. I kinda wondered why you hadn't mentioned it. But Stiles thought that maybe you were afraid I'd think you were crazy, and I thought _that_ was crazy, because you're the most level-headed person I know.” He paused. “Who's also a teenager. Most level-headed teenager I know. Except now I know Lydia.” He tipped his head. “Is ruthless the same as level-headed?”

Scott was babbling. She wanted him to stop. “You talk about us?”

Scott went quiet, hunching his shoulders a little. “Well, yeah. I mean, Sheriff Stilinski's the new alpha. That's gotta be a big deal.” He waved a ketchup-laden fry for emphasis. He shot her a guilty look. “And I know some of what your dad did to Derek this fall—harassing him. Shooting at him, and stuff. Mr. Stilinski said he could've filed charges, but Derek's all about broody suffering so that's not going to happen.”

Wow, they really _had_ been talking about her family.

The flare of outrage didn't last long, because wasn't her family as bad? When they weren’t arguing about Kate, her parents were talking about the sheriff. They didn’t like the fact that a werewolf was sheriff; didn’t matter that he’d been sheriff long before he’d been bitten, and they _didn’t know_ if anything would change.

“But I don’t want to talk about Derek, or Mr. Stilinski, because I’m sorta hoping that what they are has no bearing on, you know, _us._ But that kinda depends on you.”

Or maybe this was about seeing Derek chained and tortured. Maybe he’d found out that she’d been down there, in that basement, and not said anything to stop Kate.

“I didn’t know,” she swore. “What Kate was doing. My family…” It was hard to speak, her throat was so tight. “I didn’t know that they were hunting. And then Kate… I would never agree to what she did. I didn’t know. You have to believe me.”

Scott shushed her, smiling at her. “I believe you.” He took her hands in his. “This isn't about when you found out about werewolves, but when _I_ did.”

And then he told her. Everything about the day before they met. A dark night, a too-curious friend and a dead body in the woods. He told her how something had come at him in the dark, after he'd been separated from Stiles. How he'd wandered, in pain, and feeling guilty for losing his inhaler, until he'd found the road and could go home again. How he'd been so stupid and tired... “To top it all off,” he laughed. “I nearly got hit by a car when I'd finally found the highway.”

“That was _you_?” She asked, stunned. He just looked at her. “That was us, in the SUV. Me and my mother. She was lecturing me about something, and then suddenly there was this kid in a hoodie, just standing on the road in the rain. We swerved around him and nearly ran off the road!”

“Yeah! That _was_ me!” Stupidly, Scott was smiling again. “It's like fate!”

She smiled back, but it was automatic. What he'd said, what he'd told her. She was getting it now. “You were bitten.” It wasn't a question. Or even an accusation, really, but Scott still pulled away.

“Yeah. By Peter Hale.”

“You're a werewolf.” Her mental voice was starting to loop 'Oh my god! Oh my god!'. Newly-turned werewolves, her parents had said, had no control over their feral nature. They had to rely on their alpha to control them. Peter Hale had been Scott's alpha, and Peter Hale had wanted vengeance for the death of his family. “Did you... Have you... attacked anyone?”

“No!” He shook his head vehemently. “Peter wanted me to.” He swallowed, but he kept looking at her, gauging her reaction. “That thing in the school that night? That was him, trying to get me to kill you guys so that I'd be bound to him. He was _such_ a dick!” Outrage was clear in Scott's voice, and it was enough to break the despairing spiral of Allison's thoughts. Scott wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t confused. He was just honestly and purely unbelieving that someone would be so... _dastardly_.

It meant that Scott was still the essentially decent guy he'd been since they’d met. So when he said he hadn't hurt anyone, Allison believed him.

“Can I see?” The question was out before she even realized she was curious. She picked up her milkshake to hide her embarrassment.

Unbelievably, Scott blushed bright red. He flicked his gaze around the playground. “Not _here_.”

She couldn’t help it; she laughed. “Of course not. We can go to your house?”

“Sure,” Scott agreed with a big smile. She couldn’t help but smile back, and that encouraged him to move closer again. She drank more of her milkshake to control her smile.

“I can’t believe you know,” he said softly, cleaning up the last of his food. “But I’m, like, really glad, because it'll make it simpler if you, you know, decide to get back together. But I am sorry you had to find out the way you did. Your Aunt… I know you really like Kate.”

“Liked. I _liked_ Kate.” She put her milkshake down. “You know she’s essentially not denying that she set fire to the Hale’s house eight years ago?” She shook her head, bewildered. “How could she do that? And then she calls the _Hales_ monstrous?”

“I’m still sorry.” Scott was right beside her now, offering her comfort.

She rested her head on his shoulder, silent invitation. He took her up on it, and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her snugly into his side. He was amazingly warm... Which made sense, now that she knew he’d been turned into a werewolf.

“Did it hurt?”

“Being bit?” he asked in a quiet voice. She nodded. “Yeah. It hurt a lot. I mean, it was a deep bite with lots of teeth right in my side. And it burned. Then the next morning, nothing.”

“You haven’t got a scar.” She frowned.

“I know.” He shrugged. “I pulled off the bandage, and the bite was all healed. It was like a dream.” He sighed. “Or a nightmare.”

She gripped the hand that he had on her shoulder and squeezed it. Comfort ran both ways, after all.

“When did you know? That you’d changed, I mean.”

“That day at school. I mean, I didn’t know I’d ‘changed’ just that things were really weird. Smells were intense. I heard you talking to your mother on the phone, before you even came into the school.”

“You gave me that pen! You practically had it ready for me.” It had been weird how he’d had it out when she sat down, as if he’d known. Turned out he had.

Now, Scott squirmed in embarrassment. It was sweet.

 _He_ was sweet. He'd always been sweet, since that first day at school, and he'd always been a werewolf. The Scott she'd fallen in love with was a werewolf.

She wove her fingers through his. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Not to me. You’re Scott. _That’s_ what’s important.”

She felt him relax all at once, like a balloon deflating. “Yeah?”

She turned her face to his, not smiling—absolutely serious so he’d know she meant it absolutely. “Yeah.”

Scott turned his face back the table, but his smile was sunlight.

“You could kiss me, you know,” she suggested.

“If I kiss you now, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop,” he admitted sheepishly.

It caused a ball of heat in her chest (and lower). “We should go to your house now, then.” Allison tried to sound seductive, but she was smiling and seductive wasn’t something she had much experience in.

“Yeah. We should, um, definitely do that. Right now.” He unwrapped his arm and stood up, gathering the remains of their food and taking it to the garbage. He only banged into two chairs, and tripped on one brick on his way.

Halfway back to her he stopped. “Oh no.” She sat up, panicking. He turned to her. “Stiles left.”

That was confusing. It wasn't as if she wanted _Stiles_ to come to Scott’s house with them. She stepped in close to Scott and said so.

His look of doom didn't change. “We came in his jeep.”

And they were all the way across town from Scott’s house. It would take an hour or more to walk it.

Allison slumped. “Noooo...”

“Yeah.”

-o0o-

The drive back to Beacon Hills was even longer than the drive out had been.

His tension wasn’t dissipated by Victoria’s report of her conversation with Allison: Allison would train in hand-to-hand, she’d start up her archery again, but she’d stated categorically that she didn’t want to be a hunter.

“With Gerard coming to stay, that could cause a problem,” Victoria said calmly.

Could? It _would_ , because Gerard was obsessed with legacy and reputation and control.

“We could rent a house for him and his entourage,” Chris suggested. Something. Anything, but letting him stay here.

“We’ve already discussed this.” Victoria ran a second cloth along the windowsill, cleaning up the residue from the first.

“He could be here for months.” He’d said it before. He didn’t know how to persuade her. Didn’t know how to make her understand just how… insidious Gerard could be. His father could say the most toxic, damaging things in such way that everyone just agreed with him.

“I don’t think he will,” she answered calmly, just as she had all the other times he’d said it. Victoria turned to face him. “I know you’re worried, Chris, but I don’t think your father has the patience to be here for the whole legal process. I think he’ll stay a month, maybe two; realize there’s nothing he can really do at this point except pay for the lawyers and the psychiatric exams. He’ll leave as soon as something more glamorous comes up.”

It sounded plausible. His father _didn’t_ have much patience. But two months!

Chis pressed at the tension centered between his eyebrows. “Leave for good?”

Victoria thought about it, brush moving smoothly through her hair.

“Probably not,” she conceded. “He’ll stay away for a while, but he’ll come back to see how things are proceeding.”

Chris nearly swore in irritation. “He’ll be full of opinions.”

“No doubt, but he’ll only stay a couple weeks. The time after that, it’ll be a week. Maybe less.” Victoria But while he’s here, I’d rather he was somewhere we can keep an eye on him. From what I’ve heard, that man does nothing without at least three reasons.” She stared at Chris in the mirror. “I want to know them all.”

The idea of Gerard’s visit being a mission, of Chris having to strategize and plan a way to get intel out of his crafty father, made him feel better about allowing Gerard into the house. He’d need to rattle Gerard enough to make the old man give up some of his secrets.

“I’ll call him ‘dad’,” Chris said. “He hates that.”

-o0o-

 

They walked.

They walked and talked like they had done on her birthday except this time, instead of picking flowers and skipping stones on a pond, Allison and Scott window-shopped and kicked cans down the street.

They walked in a world containing just the two of them.

They walked…

And talked about werewolves.

“That night in the school. Why didn’t Peter’s call control you?” she asked. “I mean, my parents said that an Alpha’s power over its Betas is absolute.”

Scott was quiet for so long, she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but eventually he sighed. “He reminded me of my dad.”

Allison wasn’t sure what to say, but she made a supportive sound.

“I remember, I was maybe six? Seven? And my bike had a flat tire. I asked him for help, because Mom was at the hospital, and he shoved the pump at me, barked some bullshit instructions, and then he walked away. Left me in the driveway wondering what he’d just said, and too afraid to ask him to explain.” Allison squeezed his hand—she knew what that felt like.

Scott gave her a small smile. “Anyway, when he came back out, the tire was still flat.

“Of course.”

“I’d tried but…” He gave a rueful shrug. “I’d put everything away, but he went looking for it. When he found it, he got really upset. Said I should’ve been able to figure it out, or I should still be trying. Called me lazy and stupid. Blah blah blah. Then he confiscated my bike, because I ‘didn’t know how to look after it.’ ”

Allison stopped. “Seriously?”

Scott nodded. “He made me clean the garage, too. ‘To teach me discipline’.” He took her hand and started walking again. “When my mom got home she fought him about it, of course.” He shivered a little, so Allison shifted closer. “One day, when he was at work and she wasn’t, she pulled it out of wherever he’d stored it. And then she explained how to check for a hole in the inner tube, and showed me how to attach the nozzle to the valve so it wouldn’t come off, and she helped me pump it up.” He gave a wobbly shrug. “She never said a bad word about my dad to me, but she didn’t have to.”

“Is that why they split up?”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “He got accepted into the FBI.”

“He’s FBI?”

“Agent Rafael McCall. Because being a cop in Beacon Hills wasn’t good enough for him,” Scott said scornfully. “He didn’t tell Mom he’d applied, but he sure expected her to pack up and go with him once he’d been accepted.”

“You didn’t?”

“Why would we?” he asked, genuinely confused.

Allison blinked, feeling just as confused. “Well, women usually go with their family—” Scott was already shaking his head.

“No, _wives_ usually follow the _husband._ Because women’s careers aren’t considered as important as their husband’s.” She could see the air quotes. “But Mom’s family was _here_. _Mi abuela_ was still alive, and Mom didn’t want to leave her since she was, like, 80. Plus the house was Mom’s, and moving meant selling it or trying to landlord from across the country. It didn’t make sense to move.” He shrugged.

“But the FBI is such a great opportunity,” Allison asked hesitantly.

Scott snorted. “He would be a _junior_ FBI agent, in his 30s. Mom was already a Charge Nurse. She had just as many opportunities in _her_ career as he had in his, so why was she expected to drop everything and start over?”

Again, all Allison could do was blink. She’d never thought of it like that. If her mother had ever objected to moving for her husband’s business, she’d never done it in front of Allison. (Although now, of course, it turned out their “business” wasn’t their actual job, so who the hell knew how the decisions were made.)

“Plus,” Scott continued, kicking at a Starbucks's cup viciously. “He would just get reassigned in a year or two, and then a year or two after that, and maybe more, until he got a promotion and a permanent assignment, you know?” Allison nodded. “So they did the long-distance thing for a while, and it turned out we worked better as a family when he was gone.”

There was more to it than that. Allison knew it in her bones (and also because she already knew Scott’s parents hadn’t divorced until he was thirteen), but she also sensed that Scott was on the verge of being really upset. “So how did that help you fight off Peter Hale’s control?”

Now Scott blushed bright red. He mumbled something she didn’t catch. “What?” Silence. She poked him. “What?”

She kept repeating it until he finally spoke up. “I wanted to be strong like my mom.”

Allison couldn’t help jumping on Scott and giving him the biggest hug, even as she laughed and laughed. She had the _sweetest_ werewolf boyfriend ever!

-o0o-

 

The walk took closer to three hours but they were _wonderful_ , even though they ended up at to her house, instead of going to Scott’s. 

Scott didn’t come up to the door because Allison didn’t want him to run into her parents, not even in a nice social setting. She didn’t want them thinking of Scott at all, since she knew they were looking for the second beta. Scott had wanted to take her right up to the door of course, to make sure the remaining paparazzi didn’t bother her, but she explained about the fence jumping and he looked so _impressed_.

He was absolutely the best boyfriend ever.

She jumped the Gasal's back fence and walked to the side door.

Then she wiped her smile away, and entered her house. It smelled of the roast beef dinner her mother was preparing. (Her mother had taught in a couple places they’d lived. For the first time, Allison wondered if her mother had ever wanted to make a career of it.)

Her dad popped his head out from the kitchen. “Allison?” (He often helped in the kitchen, so maybe her parents’ relationship was more of partnership than Scott’s parents had been?)

“Yeah, it’s me,” she answered, already on the stairs. “I’m just going to clean up before supper.” Her dad acknowledged it but didn’t add anything, so Allison continued up. She loved her parents and she knew they loved her, but Scott had loved his dad, and his dad had been an asshole even though he thought he loved Scott. The thing Scott’s dad had done with the bike, it was a type of abuse, right? (Well, he hadn’t hit Scott, but it was uncaring and manipulative at the very least.)

Her parents did that to her sometimes.

Not the punishment thing, but they did make comments when her grades weren’t good enough, or she hadn’t cleaned her room well enough. They moved when they wanted, and made her feel guilty about wanting to stay until the end of the year. Hell, they’d made her move right at the end of the _semester_. She’d taken her finals in classes she’d attended for a total of ten days. (No wonder she’d been held back a year.) But that wasn’t abuse.

Was it?

Allison spent the rest of the weekend, thinking, researching, and remembering.

When her parents didn’t want to answer a question, they didn’t make her feel stupid for asking. (Her mom just said they weren’t going to answer it.)

They didn’t go through her phone or her laptop reading her stuff (but her mom had threatened it a couple times).

However, Allison could see that it wouldn’t take much to tip them over into controlling-slash-abusive behavior. Something like finding out she was the one who turned Kate in, or that Scott was the second beta. Either of those… Yeah. It could get bad.

 


	3. Normal Days Are Really Rare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard and the Alphas arrive in Beacon Hills. Almost nobody wants them around.

“Derek!”

Derek ignored McCall shouting his name. He’d made arrangements to cremate Laura’s body today, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone.

“Why are we here again?”

That was Stilinski. Not unexpected as the two boys seemed to have chosen to be twins or something.

(Pack, his mind whispered - Derek ignored that voice too.)

“Because.”

He waited, uncaring, for McCall to finish the rest of the sentence. Stilinski didn’t have any patience.

“Because? You woke me up at ass o’clock for ‘ _because’_?”

“You get up this early for lacrosse.”

“Yeah, well. _Lacrosse_!”

“This is more important.” Derek knew McCall’s crooked jaw would be pushed out in stubbornness. They’d hunt around for a while longer.

Derek wasn’t worried, though. He knew this forest better than they did, and he knew how to evade better hunters than they’d ever be.

“Jeez! It’s just an apology.”

An apology Derek neither needed nor wanted.

(He _wanted_ to remember what his family had smelled like when they were alive. Not just Laura, but his sisters and his parents. Their old couch and his father’s spice cupboard.)

“We accused him of killing his sister.”

“And Deaton… Well, _you_ accused him of attacking Deaton. I was just going to blame some random dude.”

Stilinski was beginning to sound out of breath. They were pretty deep into the preserve and the ground wasn’t even. The kid should be ready to quit soon.

“But that’s why we gotta apologize.”

Derek increased his pace a little more. Not enough to make him sweat because sweat had odor. McCall was a terrible werewolf, but even he might not miss a huge waft of stink if it blew in his face.

(His mother had worn Chanel all her life. He'd found the brand at Macy's once. It hadn't smelled like her at all.)

“Why now? It’s like ass o’clock in the morning. You barely let me eat breakfast. Maybe he’s not even awake?”

“We need to do it before we forget.”

Why did McCall have to be so freaking _stubborn?_ It had been fine when he’d used it to resist Pet– to resist the alpha. Not so fine when he’d refused to team up with Derek to find Peter.

(Peter… who had killed Laura, his niece.

How could he have _done_ that? How could he kill _his family_?)

“You know what you should be doing? Calling Allison. You said she had a good time on Friday, right? And she was happy to see you on Saturday? You should follow up on that.”

Derek suppressed a full-body shudder at the mention of Allison Argent. She might be younger than Kate had been when she’d introduced herself, but he had no doubt that Allison would eventually do the same thing to Scott because Argents killed werewolves.

The sound of movement from the two boys slowed then stopped.

“She did say she had a good time.”

“Yeah? That’s good! But if you don’t offer, she might think you’re not interested in, y’know. ‘Rekindling the romance’. Or at least the bumping uglies.”

“Stiles!”

If Chris Argent heard either of them talking about his daughter that way, the hunter was liable to kill them. Well, he was probably going to shoot McCall anyway, if he ever found out about him either “bumping uglies” or being a werewolf.

(But if it got McCall and Stilinski to leave him alone, Derek would cheer on the whole _Romeo and Juliet_ thing they had going.)

Stilinski grumbled and cajoled a little more, and McCall eventually gave in. Derek stopped and listened to the boys walking away. McCall, complaining the whole time about the lack of reception in the preserve.

Derek waited until there was nothing but the birds and wind. Until he knew he was alone, before moving again. He’d do a tour of the old property while he wasn’t being chased by anything or anyone.

Time to say goodbye properly,

-o0o-

 

Allison decided that her friends were wholly responsible for her not going screamingly postal at school.

In every one of her classes kids had pointed, whispered, and stared. Worse, Lisa Meyers, daughter of the first victim, had cried when she saw Allison in Economics.

If it hadn't been for Scott, sitting by her side and pressing his leg into hers for support, and Lydia in front of her, flicking her hair in an “I'm so done with you” way. Well. Allison probably would have skewered Mr. Harris with one of her mom’s arrows.

“Miss Argent,” he oozed with unctuous glee. “Perhaps you can explain how characteristics and behavior are passed down in your DNA.”

“Umm, Isn't that part of biology, and isn't this chem?” Stiles said from the back of the room and pulled Harris' attention away from her. “I mean, I'm pretty sure I get to blow shi-stuff up in your class—”

“Usually by accident,” Lydia sniffed.

“Unexpected explosions are the best ones.” Stiles was probably grinning. Allison could have kissed him.

Lydia snorted. “Hardly a challenge in a chemistry lab. All you need are potassium chlorate, sugar...” Lydia's casual inventory of all the things in the lab that could go boom kept the teacher's (and the class') attention on chemistry for the rest of the period.

Stiles wound up in detention anyway (of course). He just shrugged it off, but Allison kissed his cheek anyway. She had the best friends!

“Your aunt's belief in werewolves isn't caused by genetics,” Lydia said over lunch in the cafeteria. “And, though genetics can be an element in psychological growth, scientists now think that prenatal development and early environment are more of a factor.” It was reassuring, kind of, but Kate wasn't _completely_ crazy, and Allison kind of wished she could tell her friend that. Would she believe her that werewolves _were_ real?

She watched as Scott and Stiles lined up for lunch. Scott smiled at her, uncomplicatedly happy to see her. Stiles bobbed his head, and twitched his lips in a gesture far harder to read.

If he hadn’t been one Scott would still have believed her about werewolves, because Scott was like that. A friend tells him something and he believes his friend _because_ they're friends. Lydia would accept that Allison believed, but she would also start running tests, looking for a diagnosis and a treatment.

Stiles would... Well, actually, Stiles probably would’ve believed her, because he, kind of, already believed that anything was possible. And then he would’ve researched the hell out of it. Did Stiles worry less now that Sheriff Stilinski didn't need to be concerned with high cholesterol?

No, she answered herself. Because now he would worry about hunters, and exposure, and challenges from other werewolves looking to take over Beacon Hills.

She flashed to the night Peter Hale had kept them captive at the school, to Stiles punching Jackson when he suggested calling the sheriff and letting him face the creature outside—in effect, putting his father's life in danger. Stiles hadn't been a spaz when he'd hit Jackson—he'd been freaky scary.

“If you frown any harder, you'll need Botox before you're twenty.” Lydia's dry comment pulled Allison out of her thoughts.

She forced out a smile. “Sorry. A lot on my mind.”

“Really?” Lydia rolled her eyes. “You need a spa day: massage, facial, mani-pedi, the works, and maybe you'll stop glowering at Stiles.” Lydia slapped her hand on the table making Allison flinch. Lydia scooped up a spoonful of yogurt. “Honestly. Did he photo bomb your date with Scott? He can be pretty oblivious of social boundaries.” Lydia's tone was that of an owner talking about a favored pet.

Allison made her brain back away from scary Stiles. Thankfully, it didn't have to go very far. “So the Winter Formal went well then? You didn't kill him.”

Lydia tipped her head, and gave a considering hum. “Actually, he wasn't a bad partner. He knew when to go away.” She smiled and filled her mouth with yogurt.

“Please tell me you didn't go looking for Jackson.” When Lydia didn't deny it, Allison leaned over the table. “The guy asked me to the dance. Insulted me in the car, and then only stuck around long enough to spike the punch. Those are not the actions of a nice guy.”

Lydia sniffed. “Maybe I'm not looking for a nice guy. Not everybody's attracted to soft puppies like Scott.”

“Says the woman who made out with him in the closet.”

Thankfully, the arrival of Scott and Stiles stopped whatever Lydia might have said to defend herself. Allison wasn't interested in hearing it again. It was over, done. Behind them, and mostly forgotten. Instead, she shared a small kiss with her on-again boyfriend when he sat down beside her.

They talked about nothing much—teachers, lacrosse, the weekend.

“So I hear your father has lost three of his deputies. That's gotta be tough.” Lydia said (in an obvious attempt to avoid committing to weekend activities, but Allison was still interested).

Stiles shrugged, a rough jerk of his shoulder, and stabbed ineffectively at his pasta. “Well, you know, people think being a county cop is all handing out speeding tickets, and finding lost dogs while wearing a cool uniform. Then people die—or nearly die.” He waved it off. “Anyway, people get hurt, and suddenly being a Beacon Hills deputy isn't as much fun anymore.”

It sounded plausible. But...

“How's your father managing the change?” Allison asked only half-seriously. Sheriff Stilinski been nice to her that night, on her way back from Kate's torture cave, but her parents would be disappointed if Allison didn't use all her chances to grab intel.

“What change?” Stiles threw up his hands. “He was short-staffed before, and he's still short-staffed. Although, no, you're right.” Stiles leaned forward, pointing a finger at her. “He's eating steak. Blatantly, eating steak. For the B vitamins and the protein, he says. I say, what's wrong with a pill? Pills don't have cholesterol.” Stiles shifted his glare back to his cheese-covered pasta. “That's it,” he announced. “I'm taking him salad tonight, and I'm not leaving until he's eaten all of it.”

He would do it, too, Allison realized. How could _Stiles_ not understand the physical benefits of being a werewolf? A little cholesterol wouldn't hurt a one. From what her parents said, a _vat_ of cholesterol and a gaping chest wound wouldn't stop one for long.

“You do realize your father's an adult,” Lydia said in disbelief. Scott frantically waved his hands to stop her. “Plus, given the stressors in his life right now, he's not wrong in what he's doing. Recent studies showed that just a picture of a steak is enough to calm some men down.”

Stiles slammed his fork down. “Then he can look at a picture while he eats his freaking salad!” Stiles grabbed his tray and his bag. He gave them all a final sniff and stalked off with offended dignity.

Scott had a hand over his face, Lydia's mouth was open in surprise, but Allison had to laugh.

“Was the sheriff so unhealthy?” she asked.

“He always looked in good shape to me.” Lydia said with a suggestive lift of her eyebrows.

Scott recoiled. “No! You can't perv on the sheriff.”

Lydia's eyebrows now challenged Scott to stop her.

“He's my best friend's dad,” Scott pleaded. “I've known him since I was _eight_.”

Lydia shrugged, and Scott dropped his head to the table with a long moan of despair. When Lydia winked at her, Allison had to giggle. It was nice. _This_ was nice: her two best friends getting along. As horrible as it had been for Lydia when Jackson dumped her, she'd become softer, more approachable, and yet somehow stronger.

She didn’t work so hard to appear stupid, anyway.

“Oh my,” Lydia purred. “Forget Sheriff Stilinski. Who are _they_?” Lydia was staring at the north cafeteria doors, so Allison turned to look.

It was obvious whom Lydia was drooling over: Twins—white, blondish hair, average height, muscles—swaggered into the room. They carried themselves like gods on earth, which partly explained Lydia's attraction, but they made Allison's hair lift and her heart speed up. They were dangerous and they knew it.

Scott also sat up, frowning as if he smelled something rotten. “It's kind of late for transfers, isn't it?”

“It's never too late for a change of scenery.” Lydia had braced her chin on her upraised fist, and was staring at the newcomers. Allison wondered if she was hoping to attract them with the power of her mind. If so it worked. The new guys gazed over the cafeteria crowd before settling their attention on their table.

Lydia perked up, fluffing her hair and giving them an inviting look.

“They’re staring at us.” Scott’s frown had deepened.

Lydia flicked her hair disdainfully. “Not 'us'.” Her unsaid 'idiot' was easily heard.

When Allison looked back toward the doors, the twins were gone. A quick check confirmed they hadn't sat down and they weren't in line for food.

They hadn't come to the cafeteria for food, but they hadn't accepted Lydia's invitation either. It could've just been them checking out the school...

She shivered, remembering how the twins had looked at their table and smiled.

She needed to talk to her parents.

-o0o-

 

On Monday afternoon, Chris opened the door before Gerard could push the doorbell again.

“Christopher.” Gerard’s voice was cool. His use of Chris’s full name a reminder of Chris’s childhood when Gerard had control of him, was allowed to judge him. And Gerard had judged him harshly.

Chris made sure to mirror the tone exactly. “Dad.”

Gerard hated the diminutive ‘dad’. It was so informal, so lacking in authority. It made his father’s eyes twitch, and Chris buried his smile by stepping back to let his father into their house. “How was Kate?”

“I didn’t stop.”

Chris paused. Gerard walked around him to greet Victoria, who was waiting at the kitchen entrance. “Why didn’t you stop?” he asked. “The prison was only five miles out of your way.”

Gerard didn’t even turn to face him. “It wasn’t necessary.”

Not necessary? When Gerard’s stated purpose for coming to Beacon Hills was to work with Kate on her defense? Chris raised his eyebrows at his wife. She lifted her chin.

“Tomorrow will be fine,” she said. She held out her hand, and Gerard took it even though he’d narrowed his eyes at her presumption. They exchanged a formal handshake and air kisses, and all Chris could think of was the salute before a duel.

“Coffee?” she asked.

Gerard, eyes still narrow and tight, shook his head. “I think we need to discuss how things in Beacon Hills got so out of control that you let my daughter get arrested.” He turned to stalk into the dining room, forcing them to follow behind like ducklings.

“We didn’t ‘let’ her do anything,” Chris growled, moving around his father to grab the seat at the head of the table.

“Then how did she get caught?” Gerard basically sneered at both of them.

“She didn’t cover her tracks well enough,” Victoria said coolly. She took the bourbon out of the cabinet and offered it. Gerard nodded gracious acceptance.

Chris shook his head at the offer. “As far as we can figure, something she did or said caught the attention of the sheriff’s son, and he followed her out to the Hale place.”

“The sheriff’s son.” Gerard’s voice dripped disbelief.

“Yes. The sheriff’s son,” Victoria confirmed. “He is notoriously nosy, and has been found at crime scenes before.”

“By his father. The _alpha_ that arrested your sister.”

“His father, who is the _sheriff,_ ” Chris corrected. “Who became the alpha _after_ arresting Kate.”

Gerard slanted a look at Chris. “You were at the station during the attack. Why didn’t you kill him in the confusion? A newly turned werewolf, even an alpha _,_ would’ve been an easy target.”

“Because I was applying pressure to Kate’s neck.” Chris stared at his father. “Peter Hale had just tried to rip out her throat and I was trying to stop your daughter from bleeding to death.” Gerard lifted a shoulder. It felt dismissive, as if Chris should’ve been able to both save Kate and kill the sheriff. In a room full of police. Chris ground his teeth to stop himself from saying anything.

“Considering the circumstances, Chris made the right call.” Victoria’s voice was firm. Her support loosened the tension that had been building in his neck and shoulders. “Not all the deputies were incapacitated.”

“Whatever the circumstance of its turning,” Gerard said. “Having a werewolf in a position of such authority is unacceptable. It is the utmost priority that the situation be corrected.” Chris wondered by whose authority the sheriff’s removal was made a priority, but Gerard hadn’t finished talking yet. “Plus, there is still the unknown beta running around—the reason Kate was here in the first place. If you had managed to identify him...” He paused to shake his head ruefully. “Well, I think it’s just as well that I arrived when I did, as it seems you are barely in control of anything happening in Beacon Hills.”

“It may seem that way, but we have managed to narrow the possibilities to three. Out of nearly 500,000 residents. I think we’ve been very effective.” Victoria’s smile was tight. “Excuse me. I need to get my cookies out of the oven.” She stood up and walked out of the room, back straight as any soldier. Chris very carefully didn’t mention that the oven timer hadn’t beeped.

He looked at his father and twisted his lips into sort of a smile. "Allison needs them for school."

“Ah yes, Allison. Where is your charming daughter?”

Chris’s smile dropped like a brick. “It's the middle of the day. She's at school.”

“At school,” Gerard said with damning cool. “With the unknown second beta still on the loose.”

Chris felt the defensive excuses rise from his hindbrain, and pushed them back. He didn't need to explain himself to Gerard. “She isn’t defenseless.”

Surprisingly, Gerard didn't pursue it. “Now that she knows, don't you think it's time her training resumed in earnest?”

“It already has,” Chris said. “She's practicing her archery. I took her to the range yesterday, so she could refresh her handgun skills. However, it is also the end of the semester and she has finals.”

“Finals,” Gerard scoffed. “With her skills and natural ability, she should just quit school and train full time. She will be the head of the family, after all.”

"Aunt Elizabeth has three daughters and a couple granddaughters," Chris pointed out. “Leadership of the Argents isn't passing to her anytime soon.”

Gerard waved that off. “I meant of this family. When Victoria dies.”

Chris ground his teeth and counted.

“Allison could get a GED and it would be just as useful as a BA in art history. Or whatever other fool-thing teenagers think is important these days. Plus, she needs to worry about the next generation.” Chris barely stopped his jaw from dropping. “It's a pity your sister never had a baby,” Gerard mused. “What a hunter he would've been!”

“Allison is not quitting school.” Victoria's voice was very clear, very firm. Chris knew his wife well. He knew her every expression, and he knew she was seriously pissed. She'd wanted to continue in school, but the Mather tradition had her family pulling her out at seventeen. They'd been married when she was nineteen. He'd never regretted it, but he also knew that Victoria sometimes wondered 'if only'. How could she not?

Victoria held out the plate. “Cookie?”

The thought arose that he'd probably have an easier time persuading her to kick Gerard out now. Now that Gerard had reminded her of _that_ Mather tradition. He felt more hopeful

“Almond Shortbread,” he said with a real smile. “They’re Allison’s favorites.”

-o0o-

 

Allison didn’t talk to her parents about the twins that night. She didn’t talk to her parents about them the next morning either.

Her grandfather had arrived, and if she’d thought Kate was freaky-scary in the cave with Derek, then Gerard was creepy-scary all the time. Asking her to call him ‘grandpa’ as if he hadn’t essentially ignored her for the last fifteen years.

He knew that she knew about the hunting thing, so he talked about it all night—grilled her about it, really—what she did to train, the best weapons to use against a werewolf (her mother had joined in this discussion enthusiastically), and how to spot one that was hiding in plain sight. Then he asked her about her friends and the kids in school. Allison could’ve mentioned the twins then, but...

Quite frankly, her grandfather scared her more than the twins had.

She would keep an eye on them. Make sure they were actually evil before she condemned them to whatever Gerard would do.

-o0o-

 

Day twelve of being a werewolf.

Sheriff Stilinski filled his cup with the newly-godawful coffee (he’d gotten used to it once, he could do it again) before returning to his desk to look at design proposals for the new ultra-secure, combined-use, law enforcement building. Since the office was essentially gutted, the county council had decided to bring out the proposals developed nine years ago following 9/11, and then put aside when the 2008 financial crisis ate the county’s funds.

The county counsel had pulled the plans out of mothballs, hoping they could find one that only needed minor tweaks. However, the council hadn’t agreed _then_ on what design to go with, and the sheriff had no faith that this time would go any easier.

Brutalism, the sheriff thought it was called. Big, square and ugly. It was like an above-ground bunker. It was in keeping with the atmosphere in which it had been designed, but it hardly made the legal system seem approachable or part of the community. Thankfully, it hadn’t included handicapped washrooms on any but the first floor, and the prisoner transfer facilities were inadequate.

The sheriff put the design in his reject pile, and prepared arguments to defend his decision to the county board.

He’d added two to his maybe pile and one more to his no pile, when his personal cellphone played the emo ringtone that Stiles had set for Derek Hale. (Awful, yes, but wildly appropriate. If Derek ever heard it, the sheriff would pretend he didn't know how to change it, and let Stiles take the heat.)

“What's up?” he asked bluntly, because Derek didn't appreciate small talk. Besides, Derek wouldn't call him unless it was important. For some reason, he made the young man uncomfortable.

“I think you've got trouble.”

-o0o-

 

“The swirly thing means what again?”

It was the second time he'd asked but Derek forgave him. The symbol _was_ pretty obscure. “It means revenge. Someone has sworn vendetta on someone in the area.” There were actually two signs cut into the side of the shack, but one was rusted and old. It had been there since before the Hale fire.

the bones of the building dated to the 1920s, when his great-great-great (great?) grandmother had built a still. They'd shipped their illegal liquor to Nevada and around northern California. When prohibition was repealed, she'd kept it open to brew moonshine that would work on werewolves. Nobody had kept it up after Nana Emeline’s death. There were still the skeletons of the old industry, large vats connected by rusty pipes, and heavy tables bolted to the cement floor. There were a couple used condoms and empty beer bottles that testified to a more recent use of the building.

“And they're both werewolves.”

Derek shrugged. “The person calling the vendetta is. The target could be anything.” He ignored the sheriff's sigh. “I can tell you it's new. Like, within-the-week new.”

Sheriff Stilinski looked around the burned-out brewery before giving Derek a skeptical look. “You spend a lot of time here?”

Derek forced his shoulders to stay down. “My family owned it. I came by earlier this week to look at it.”

“And this thing—” he waved his finger at the mark “—wasn’t here.”

Derek shook his head.

“Why would someone come way out here to scratch holes in the walls of an unused shack?”

“It wasn’t completely unused,” Derek felt compelled to say. “Mom held big meetings here. Lots of room. Private. Mostly neutral.”

“So lots of werewolves would know it was here?”

Derek wanted to growl. Of _course_ the sheriff would blame a werewolf. After all, he hadn’t been born one, and didn’t want to _be_ one. “And humans,” he said through clenched teeth. “Hunters often wanted to negotiate treaties.”

“A human didn't gouge through corrugated tin.” Sheriff Stilinski traced the swirl with his fingers both relaxed and then with claws. “Close together. Evenly spaced. Clean edges.” The sheriff’s voice was calm, thoughtful. “If a human did this, they had a special tool built. Why bother?”

They were good points, and Derek felt kind of stupid for jumping down the sheriff’s throat. He shuffled his feet, waiting for a rebuke, but Stilinski didn't mock Derek for not thinking it through. Instead, the sheriff looked at him, as if he expected Derek to be correct him if he was wrong.

It was almost approval and Derek had to clamp down firmly on the part of him that wanted to shimmy with joy. The sheriff was not his alpha, he reminded his wolf.

He wasn’t anybody's alpha, that part of himself answered back.

He'd be a good alpha, it said. He just needed a good beta

Derek glowered. His wolf wasn’t even subtle.

“What?” Stilinski asked. Derek blinked, startled. The sheriff was looking at him in concern. Derek tried not to flush in embarrassment.

"I have a meeting with Kate's defense lawyer after this." It was true, but completely irrelevant.

Derek waited for Stilinski to say something—anything—about it, but aside from narrowed eyes, the sheriff didn’t react. Instead, he turned away and waved his hand at the ruins. “This is a pretty out-of-the-way place to vow revenge. You’d have to know it was here, and that means the location is significant. You got some unpleasant theory as to who it could be?”

It was a good excuse, so Derek took it. “The last time my mother used this building officially was for truce negotiations between us and the Argents.”

"'Us' as in the Hales?"

Derek shook his head. “I think there were five packs? Maybe more, but some of them left early. Gave up, my father said.” Although the voice Derek heard saying it didn't sound exactly right for his dad.

“It didn't end well?”

Derek looked pointedly at the burned carcass of the building. Stilinski smiled and nodded, accepting the unspoken 'dumb ass'. “Anybody killed?”

Derek growled. “You mean, did the werewolves—”

“I mean was _anybody_ killed? The murder of a loved one is a great motive for revenge.”

Derek's first thought was of Peter: Peter his uncle, Peter his friend. Peter who had killed Laura...

He pushed the thought out of his mind. Thinking about it would just make him crazy like Peter. Instead he cast his mind back and tried to remember what had been happening in the adult world. It was hard. There'd been so much going on in his own life. He'd fallen in love with a strong, starchy beauty who'd called him on his bullshit and smiled at him because he wasn't intimidated by her strength. And then he had killed her. It was hard to remember past Paige...

A deep breath, maybe two, and he recalled arguments in the dining room. How to handle the talks. Who to trust. Borders? That last one was vague—an argument about the size of the Hale territory that had died with a whimper not a shout. “No bloodshed—”

He stopped. His memories of that time were all black, like the blood that had seeped out of Paige, thick and almost black. He should never have let that alpha (too big: so angry) bite her. Except she'd been dying and the alpha had needed betas...

“Actually, there was some fighting. Had to be,” he realized.

The sheriff's eyebrows lifted, but not in surprise. “Did hunters attack, or was it another pack?”

Derek tried to remember what Peter had told him about Ennis’ pack, but it was all tied up with Paige: his chance to be with her, no lies. He swallowed that back and shrugged. “I heard from somebody who’d heard it from somebody else. I just know that the alpha asked permission to recruit a new pack member.”

Derek tensed, anticipating the question on just _whose_ permission had been asked, but the sheriff just nodded. “Do you remember the alpha’s name?”

If only he could forget. “Ennis.”

A part of him, his wolf, wanted to tell the sheriff everything about that time—about Paige and basketball versus cello, about his first kiss and his first love, and about how he'd faced a broken-heart for the first time and _flinched,_ and Paige had paid for his panic.

He growled at his wolf. His wolf growled back, _pushing_...

“Last name?”

Derek blinked himself back to the present. “Umm... He was from Lakeshore? I don't... I think they were all wiped out a couple months later.”

“Hunters?”

Again, Derek tried to think past Paige's death, but it was so difficult.

“I don't remember,” he finally said. “It was all... adult stuff.”

It was a lame cover, and Stilinski's sigh called him on it. “Kate Argent part of the hunter delegation?”

Talking about Kate was better cover for what Derek didn’t want to talk about. Vomit inducing, but better. Derek shook his head. “I didn’t see her.”

Thankfully, the sheriff let it drop turning instead to Derek's patchy memories of the treaty talks.

It was pretty much useless. Derek hadn't been involved. He hadn't been an alpha, hadn't been in training to _be_ alpha. Hadn't shown any leadership abilities except on the basketball court, and even then he'd only been _assistant_ captain. No one—and that included himself—had thought to involve him in the treaty discussions.

“I remember there was a British wolf, Deucalion. He went on to form the Alpha Pack.”

“The what?”

“Alpha Pack,” Derek explained. “They’re all alphas who lost their packs, or killed their packs. I don’t actually know for sure.”

“All alphas?” Sheriff Stilinski sounded skeptical.

Derek shrugged. “I don’t know how it works either. All I know is the Deucalion is in it, and he had a great Bond-villain voice.” Derek had tried to copy the accent. Paige had laughed so hard...

Time to change topics.

“There's a way to sense if another alpha has entered your territory,” Derek said delicately. It was more of a question, but given the sheriff's ignorance of the marking, Derek was pretty certain of what Stilinski would say.

“How, exactly, does that work?”

Unfortunately, Derek didn’t actually know. “Just an awareness is all my mother used to say. She used to take us hiking. Day hikes.” He waved his hand. “All around Beacon Hills. Connecting with the land.”

“I patrol all the time.” Stilinski's hands settled on his hips, elbows and legs spread aggressively wide. “I have nearly 700 deputies and officers out patrolling.”

Derek forced himself to not look away, to not submit to the alpha. “She walked,” he said, carefully stripping any fear, any defiance from his tone and posture. “Kept her senses open and walked the land.”

The sheriff snorted, “Great.” He ran a hand through his hair, and pulled it tiredly down his face. “One more trippy-dippy thing to fit into my day.”

Suddenly, Derek felt bad for the man. Stilinski was doing pretty damn good for a late-turned wolf, and all Derek did was resent him for not being Laura. Not being family. “She had us, too,” he offered.

“On the walks?”

Derek nodded. “Five young pups filled with energy and curiosity, and her betas by birth and blood.” He and Cora, a couple cousins whose faces he couldn't remember now. He stopped. Swallowed down the pain. “She could also use the pack bond to be aware of our locations, what was going on around us, what we could sense.” The sheriff's eyebrows went up.

“Nothing specific,” Derek clarified. “But enough to be aware.”

“Aware of the land.”

“If something supernatural touched it. I think.” Derek gave a rueful smile. “To be honest, I never really paid attention to the reasons.” Derek didn't feel up to explaining how he'd never questioned his beta status, had never even wanted to. Thankfully, the sheriff accepted the statement with a nod.

“It sounds like you’re saying I need a pack.”

Again Derek could only shrug. “Alphas tend to _want_ a pack. It kind of comes with the position.”

“Son, I have nearly 800 deputies and civilian officers reporting to me already, and then I have Stiles who’s sometimes like another dozen all by himself. Why would I want anyone else?” It was said with rueful humor and Sheriff Stilinski's smile invited Derek to commiserate with him, as if only Derek could understand the joke.

So why did it make him want to howl?

-o0o-

 

The sheriff was thinking of the Hales when he stopped at the Happiness Diner to grab supper for him and Stiles. Beacon Hills’ first Chinese food place had been opened by the very-Japanese Wakahashi family just after WWII. During the war, they were sent to Oak Creek internment camp up the valley, and their home and business in L.A. had been sold. The money had gone to the government, of course, so once the war was over, there was nothing in L.A. for them to go back to and they’d had no money to rebuild a life there or anywhere.

At a time when many Americans still considered Japanese-Americans the enemy, the Lucas Hale—Talia’s father—had loaned the Wakahashis enough money to open up the restaurant. There was even a picture of him in the small shrine behind the counter.

Noah stood at the counter, waiting for his payment to process, and looked at the picture. Lucas Hale, big, white, and hairy, was shaking hands with Abe Wakahashi. Neither one looked directly at the camera, and now the sheriff wondered if the loan had been to a fellow werewolf—a pack member—rather than the altruistic gesture he’d always assumed it was.

Well, considering the amount of prejudice and fear facing Americans of Japanese descent after the war it could’ve been both.

“Sheriff?” The diminutive woman behind the counter said. She was holding a couple bags filled with yummy goodness.

The food was in celebration of one day with no accidental sideburns or claws. Despite the weird swooshy symbol Derek had shown him, despite the loss of two more deputies (not related to Peter’s attack, but still a blow), and despite a general unsettled feeling, Noah was actually feeling better about this whole werewolf thing than he had since the Elvis sideburns had made their first appearance. Plus, Derek had agreed to take him out on Saturday to teach him a few things about using and controlling his senses, which would probably be good for both of them.

The sheriff took his food, wished everyone a busy but uneventful evening, and left thinking of the applications Wanda had left on his desk to review. She’d approved three, and one was from Ohio, so that was… three hours ahead of California? He’d have to check the time zones when he got home so he’d know when he could give the officer’s supervisor a call.

He was thinking about the best way to reallocate his resources when he bumped into a group going in. He apologized and moved to go around them, but the oldest one stuck out his hand.

“Sheriff Stilinski!” The civilian gripped Noah's hand with challenging firmness.

The sheriff gave an internal sigh: this was one of _those_ guys. “Hey! Nice to meet you,” he said politely. “I hope you’re enjoying the evening.” He didn’t recognize the man, but that wasn’t unusual. He’d worked hard to get his face and name in front of all 500,000 residents of the county. Lots of people recognized him.

“I heard they have the best Chinese food here,” the guy said.

He hadn’t let go of Noah’s hand, and his smile was only around the mouth. It nudged the sheriff out of politician-mode into a cop’s awareness. The guy was his height, ten to fifteen years older. Callouses on his hands from either weapons or hard work. The sheriff looked at the man’s unweathered skin and put his money on weapons.

“Whoever told you that, told you the truth. I like the Sesame Chicken. My son likes Kung Pao.” Noah held up his bags, using it to cover the sniff he took of the man.

There was a hint of something medical from him, plus gun oil and hemp lotion from all of them. The two men were young enough to be his sons, but they held themselves back, quiet and at attention. There was no indication that they were here to make trouble for the Wakahashis. Rather, given that the old man _still_ hadn’t released Noah’s hand, they were here to confront him.

He kept his grip easy, only matching the old man’s pressure, never overpowering it. “I haven't seen you around Beacon Hills,” the sheriff said with an innocent little frown. “You and your sons just moved in?”

The guards behind the old man shifted uncomfortably. Definitely muscles, and _much_ below the old man in authority.

“No, no, not moving in. Just visiting.” The old man smiled. It still didn't reach his eyes. Didn't even reach his cheeks really. “I've heard good things about you, though.”

“Well, that's nice to hear.” The sheriff forced an easy chuckle. “This fall has been... A little rough, to be honest, but we should be returning to normal soon enough.”

“Surely with that big trial coming up, you'll be more pressured than ever.”

The guy was either a reporter (with guns?) or something else, but definitely someone with an interest in Kate Argent. “Which trial?” he asked innocently.

“That girl who said werewolves are real.”

The sheriff mentally put a quarter in his burger jar. “Kate Argent, you mean.”

“That's right.” The old man's smile didn't change. “Lots of press for that one. Good for your chances of re-election, I'm sure.” He increased his grip. Noah rolled his internal eyes and didn’t bother matching the pressure.

Instead, he shook his head. “It's a sad thing. I doubt it'll even go to trial, considering. Even so, it'll probably take a couple years at least to even get to a courtroom, with all the charges.” He let himself shrug. “A lot can change in two years.”

“Yes, it can.” The man finally gave him a real smile. It still wasn’t a nice smile. The sheriff braced himself. “Well, I should let you take that food to your son. Mieczyslaw, isn’t it?” Not even a twitch of an eyelid revealed how many alarms had just gone off in the sheriff’s brain.

“Wow,” he said, eyebrows raised. “Your pronunciation is pretty good.” This time _he_ tightened _his_ grip (not too hard). “I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name.”

The threat in the man’s smile turned overt. “Argent. Gerard Argent.”

The sheriff’s alarms changed to huge booming warning sirens. The man in front of him was a confirmed threat to him and to Stiles. And then he heard the Stiles in his head mock, ‘Bond. James Bond in a bad Scottish accent. It was enough for the sheriff to calm down and back away, no wolfy bits displayed.

A couple bland platitudes about regret, a slightly less bland caution about the inappropriateness of them talking, and he extricated himself from Gerard and his hunter minions.

‘Well,’ he thought once he was in his cruiser heading home. There was no doubt that Kate’s father was a threat, but what was his angle? Was he really here to support his daughter? If so, why bring up Stiles? Did he believe in offence or defense as a strategy, Noah wondered. Given that he chose to confront the county sheriff in a public place, Noah went with offence.

Next, and more worrying question, who would Gerard attack first—him or Stiles? The thought of his mouthy, totally-human son in Gerard Argent's control made him lose _his_. In an instant, there were claws coming out of his fingers, and fangs in his mouth.

Sure enough, when he looked in the rear-view mirror he saw the Elvis sideburns sprouting down his cheeks.

“Aw, hell.”

-o0o-

 

When he got home, Scott was sitting on the couch with Stiles playing some shooter game they both enjoyed (though Scott was terrible at it). There were pizza boxes on the coffee table.

“Dad! You’re home early!”

“Hey, Mr. Stilinski,” Scott said, polite—even as he died on screen.

“What happened?” Stiles demanded. “Nothing,” he answered himself. “If something had happened you wouldn’t be here. Has it been too quiet? Is that a thing?” The sheriff sighed as his son worried about _literally_ nothing.

“I brought supper,” he said lifting the bags. “Chinese from the Happiness.”

That got Stiles to stop. “Oooh. We got pizza.”

“Dude,” Scott objected. “Happiness beats Dominos, easy.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Well, _yeah_! Not even a contest.”

“Then why were you arguing?”

“I wasn’t arguing. I was making a comment.”

Before the conversation could revert further into grade school, the sheriff cleared his throat. “Since I'm actually here, unhurt and wanting supper, how about we shelve this argument until after I’ve eaten?”

“I ordered the chicken taco pizza for you,” Stiles said, following the sheriff into kitchen.

Noah grimaced. It wasn’t his favorite, but it was better than the vegetarian. “Just put it in the fridge.” He’d take it to work and let the deputies demolish it. “I got you Sesame Chicken.” He raised his voice so Scott could hear him in the living room. “I got enough for you, too, Scott.”

“Thanks, Mr. Stilinski.” Scott’s voice was soft, and Noah remembered—werewolf hearing. No need to shout.

Stiles was standing by the counter, drooling over the food. “You are the _best dad_ EVER.”

He snorted. “I’m going to take off my gear. You and Scott can set the table. We’ll eat at the table like civilized people.” Noah could hear the two boys bickering as he climbed the stairs. .

“Oh man!” Stiles whined, even as he grabbed flatware. “What’s the point of being surrounded by werewolves if we have to act like regular people?”

“We _are_ regular people,” Scott said, popping up in time to grab the plates from Stiles.

“You’re regular _werewolves_. That’s a bit different from regular anything else.”

“If you really think it’s that special, then why don’t you let your dad eat bacon, huh?” Scott fired back. “If he can survive getting shot, he can survive fatty foods.” The sheriff silently cheered Scott on as his son hissed in betrayal. Anything that would let him have bacon— _real_ bacon not that tofurkey crap—had his support. Even lycanthropy.

The sheriff quickly changed out of his uniform and into sweat pants and T-shirt. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be going out for the rest of the night. He jogged back downstairs to see that the boys were sitting at the table, arms crossed and bottom lips out. Each of them refusing to look at the other. (Scott may have mentioned egg yolks as having been removed from the 'bad food' category.)

Noah ignored the low-level tension in the room and took a beer from the fridge. He’d had to change his brand, but he’d finally found one that didn’t taste like piss-water. It was an expensive craft beer, but worth it when it went down without making his throat seize.

He sat at the table, across from his son, put his beer in front of him, and coaxed the boys into talking with easy questions about school and lacrosse.

It was nice, but kind of odd. Usually when he came home from the station, it was too late for a beer. Too late to have dinner with his kid. The BHSO had been understaffed for... He counted the years, and gave a silent whistle. After 9/11 the council had finally listened to Sheriff Dowd when she said that a county of the size and population of Beacon Hills needed around 750 people. Now, ten years later, it was nearly 900. During that time they’d reached their target exactly never.

The county had suffered in the Crash of ‘08, bankruptcies and restructuring had closed nearly a third of the businesses in the area. Tax revenues declined and all the county services had their budgets slashed. Hell, if it weren’t for volunteers, the library would only be open 2-days a week.

The lowest point had been in 2009, when they’d dropped to 79% of recommended staff levels. They’d had rolling closures of the rural stations.

He’d managed to get it up back to 93% for the last two years. He could’ve gotten it higher, but he was picky about the people he hired. He checked references and phoned the jurisdictions where the applicants claimed to have worked, and sometimes he found that the officer left just ahead of an investigation—or hadn't worked there at all. He didn’t need those kinds of "officers" in his county, and Gus and the other deputy sheriffs backed him up, but it meant that the BHSO’s short-handedness was kind of his fault. He tried to pick up the slack when he could, but it meant that his family time suffered.

However, he was here now with his son and Scott. He could at least pretend to be a normal dad again. He could catch up on the high school gossip, like he used to before this fall turned everything nuts.

“How'd the date with Allison go?” he asked. Scott dropped his head, blushing a furious red.

“I'm guessing well,” the sheriff said in a voice dry enough for the Mojave Desert. Now that he’d thought of it, he could smell Allison’s scent on Scott, even over the strong-flavored Chinese food. They had to have gotten pretty close for that to have happened.

Scott’s smile was pure happiness. “We’re going out again.”

And staying in sometimes too, the sheriff thought. “Just remember to be safe,” he said instead. “If you want me to go buy you condoms—”

“Aaaah!” Stiles jumped.

"—just let me know," Noah continued placidly. “Werewolves may have supernatural immunity to STDs, but I doubt we have any against accidental pregnancy.”

Blush burning brightly, Scott thanked him, but said he had it covered.

“Well, that's the idea,” Noah said with a smirk, and enjoyed it as both the boys blushed and squirmed. “Did you tell her about being a, you know.”

Scott nodded, which surprised Noah. He’d recommended the boy tell her, of course, but he hadn’t really expected him to do it.

“How’s she reacting to it,” he asked. “Given her family’s ‘hobby’.”

“She seems fine with it.,” Scott answered happily. “Evil is as evil does, or something.”

Noah’s eyebrows went up in surprise. Knowing Chris and Victoria, and having now met Gerard, he doubted any of the other Argents had such a relaxed view.

Scott’s eyes widened. “Actually, speaking of tolerance, Allison’s grandfather is in town and he sounds like a nutjob. She said her parents are fighting over him being here, because her father’s afraid of him. She also said he’s obsessing over how you screw— Er, messed up his daughter's life, and swearing revenge.”

Stiles was frowning at Scott. "You didn't tell me that."

"I just remembered." Scott shrugged.

Now Stiles was outraged. "You just remembered that he's threatening my dad's life?"

"He's not making death threats! He's just, like... I guess, he's upset that a werewolf is the sheriff?" Scott shrugged. "Apparently, him and Mrs. Argent talk about getting your dad removed from office. Sorry, Mr. Stilinski." Noah shrugged, more at ease with the threat than his son. It wasn’t as if he didn't always have a few people wanting him out of office.

Before Stiles could work up a good rant that included Scott's Allison-induced memory lapse, hunters, and the California electoral system, the sheriff admitted that he'd met Gerard Argent. It stopped his son cold. " _What_?"

“Gerard Argent 'bumped' into me outside the restaurant. He had a couple guards with him.” Stiles jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over, and ready to fight. Even Scott was growling protectively. It was nice, but not needed. The sheriff ate some of his Sesame Chicken—delicious! “It was mostly posturing. Just like Shay Hardwicke when her son got ticketed.”

Stiles glared at him. “No. Not 'just like' her. I doubt Supervisor Hardwicke has guns–”

“The Argents have a lot of guns,” Scott confirmed.

"–or wolfs bane. They know how to hurt you." Stiles sounded genuinely worried.

It was a good point. Derek had filled him in on some of what Chris Argent had done in his search for the alpha. Breaking the window of Derek’s car... The man should've been arrested, but Derek hadn't thought law enforcement would do anything. After all, the Argents had ties to police departments and sheriff offices across the western states. He was trusted, and Derek... Was not. It was a decent justification for Derek’s non-action, but Noah wasn’t Derek.

“I’m a public figure,” he pointed out. “It’s not like they can just disappear me.”

“Allison said they’re planning on getting you removed from office, not killing you.”

Stiles wasn’t mollified. “Of course they’re not going to talk about killing the sheriff! Not openly!”

“You think it’s some kind of code?”

"Of course it's code!" Stiles shouted, waving his arms wildly.

Before Stiles could give in to the worst of his conspiracy-laden imagination, the sheriff spoke. “That’s not what worries me,” he said. “But I’ll wear my vest and take precautions. Is that good?” Stiles knew he hated wearing the heavy vest, so it was a considerable sacrifice.

Noah turned to his son's best friend. “Do you know if Allison’s parents have mentioned Stiles?”

“Me?” Stiles paused with his butt only halfway to his seat.

“Um, I, uh. Don't think so?” Scott looked puzzled.

“Why would the Argents be talking about me?”

The sheriff took a sip of his beer, and thought of fresh-mown grass and the smell of gun oil. He was proud when his claws stayed in. “Gerard Argent knew your name.”

Stiles grimaced briefly, puzzled but unafraid. “Everybody knows my name.”

Noah didn’t smile. “He knew your _real_ name.”

Both boys went still.

“Well, shit,” Stiles finally said.

“Hmm,” the sheriff agreed.

-o0o-

 


	4. Control Only Works When You Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek gives the Sheriff Werewolf lessons. It has unintended outcomes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a kind of indulgent chapter. It only vaguely contributes to the main plot, but I like it, so I kept it in. I hope you enjoy it, too.

Between meeting Gerard Argent yesterday, and meeting Tom Lahey this morning, Noah now truly believed that he needed whatever help mastering his werewolf woo-woo he could get.

A body had been dug up at the Beacon Hills Cemetery out in Northgate, and the body had been desecrated by something that smelled an awful lot like a werewolf (not Scott or Derek, thank Christ!). The smell of strange (invading!) werewolf, combined with the constant itchy feeling from his vest, and Noah was already a bit short-tempered.

But what was truly making it hard for Noah to keep his claws in was the arrogant assholery of Mr. Tom Lahey. And the shiner his son was sporting.

Of course, there was a chance—a small one—that the boy’s injury _was_ the result of his own clumsiness, as they’d claimed. However, Noah could _smell_ the boy’s old blood on both of them.

“You were working this morning?” Gus asked. He didn’t look at Mr. Lahey, didn’t address the older man in any way.

Didn’t matter. Once again, the father answered for the kid.

“Like he does until he leaves for school. Which he needs to do in about twenty minutes if he’s not going to be late.” The man’s arms were crossed and the sneer on his face was deep. The words were right, but the tone…

The sheriff took another breath and lifted his belt to resettle it into a slightly more comfortable position. “Did you notice anything around the grave? Movements? Footprints? Anything to indicate a direction?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see anything. Just the dirt flung all over.” Isaac kept his head and eyes down, and his father puffed up in triumph.

And the sheriff wanted to punch him in his stupid little glasses.

“How’d you get that black eye, Isaac?” Noah kept his voice mild, and he made sure he didn’t look at the father directly, but he definitely noticed the laser glare Mr. Lahey directed at his son.

Isaac must’ve felt it too, because his shoulder hunched a little more and his breath hitched. His hands, buried deep in his pockets, tightened into fights. “School.” He almost shrugged.

Gus, who’d obviously been thinking the same thing as the sheriff, asked, “School fight?”

“Nah. Lacrosse.” Isaac jerked his shoulder in another near-shrug. The movement was a little stiff, but he wasn’t hiding any serious injuries. He did, however, give his dad a quick look. The fear was plain to see, as was the kid’s reluctance to turn in his father.

Time to change the subject…

“Lacrosse? You play for Beacon Hills?” he asked. After a quick look at his father, Isaac nodded.

“My son plays for the team,” Noah continued. “Well, I mean, he… He’s on the team. He doesn’t play. Not yet anyway. It’s a long term plan.”

“I’ve seen Stiles,” Isaac confirmed, barely managing to not steal another look at his disapproving father. “He’s not bad when he can stay focused.”

“Yeah,” the sheriff confirmed ruefully. “That sounds like him.”

“I actually have a morning practice to get to,” Isaac said hopefully.

Gus nodded, but the sheriff said, “Just one more question. You guys get many grave robberies here?” Gus lifted his notepad.

Isaac looked at his father before answering. “A few. Usually they just take stuff like jewelry.”

“I checked our files, and nothing looks like it’s missing,” said Lahey senior.

When both Noah and Gus stared at him, Mr. Lahey got in another sneer. “We keep a list of all valuable items buried with bodies for just this situation,” Mr. Lahey said. “Usually those are what the little assholes take. We even have insurance for it. Sick fucks,” he muttered.

Couldn’t argue that one, the sheriff decided. He asked a different question. “What did this one take?”

Isaac gave his dad another look as if needed confirmation. Lahey senior, noticed the look, and gave his boy a sneer.

“What was taken?” Gus repeated.

Isaac swallowed. “Her liver.”

-o0o-

 

"That was gruesome," Gus said as he drove them away from the cemetery.

The sheriff agreed. Though he'd seen worse when he'd been deployed, this grave desecration had been more disturbing.

"It's because a person did it," Gus said, reading Noah's thoughts.

"A werewolf," he corrected, and suddenly knew why he was so bothered by the crime. Would that be him? In five years? In ten? Will he be so far from his humanity as to think nothing of ripping apart a months-old corpse and eating it? Is that what he had to look forward to?

Gus made a rude noise. "I don't think being a werewolf has anything to do with it. Either the perp is crazy—and anybody can be crazy—or …" Gus' voice trailed off.

"He's probably crazy," the sheriff finished.

"Is it a he?" Gus asked with a quick look.

The sheriff thought back to the impressions he'd picked up from around the grave. The smell—dirt, chemicals and cadaver. The victim had been female, but her body had been treated at the funeral home so she'd smelled like the chemicals they used. The dirt had smelled... Like dirt. So why did he think the perp was male?

Dammit. He needed more practice.

"Pretty sure."

"The other option is that he was just really, really hungry," Gus said with a teasing smirk. "I've seen you eat since it happened. I keep waiting for you to get fat in front of my eyes." Noah laughed mockingly, but it was true. He could put away an extra-large pizza all by himself and still feel hungry.

"You know Stiles still insists on feeding me salad and fake bacon bits?" he complained with an exaggerated frown. "I'm a badass werewolf, and I'm not allowed bacon with my egg white omelet."

Gus chuckled. "You could be mother-fucking Superman and that boy would still give you a hard time about your cholesterol. He loves you, man."

Noah looked out his side window, but he didn't miss Gus looking at him sideways. "Things better between you now?"

They _were_ better but they were also different and that meant they were more tentative with each other. Before Noah could respond, his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the number. He let out a breath of relief. It wasn't the school, but a guy he'd served with who'd also gone into law enforcement.

"Hey, Sergeant Johnson. How's the toes?"

Jamal Johnson had had a thing about looking after your feet in the field. He'd had two uncles come back from Vietnam with some kind of bacterial fungus and it had traumatized the man. Didn't matter that Vietnam was jungle and Iran was desert, Johnson had pestered all the guys to keep their feet clean and dry. He was a good man.

"You gotta get new material, Stinky.

"I would if you came over more often."

That was countered with an invitation to visit Jamal in his home town. They both sighed in resignation, too understaffed to make time for long-distance friends. "Anyway, I'm calling because I heard about that thing at your office."

That thing.

It's just as well the sheriff knew Jamal wasn’t an asshole, or he’d’ve been tempted to hang up.

“Did you lose anyone?” his friend asked.

“Came close, but no,” Noah said with genuine thankfulness. “So far my only losses have been from people wanting out.”

“Not surprising,” Jamal said. "Cops aren’t supposed to be the vulnerable ones. But that’s kind of why I’m calling. I've got a young guy, vet. I'll be sorry to lose him, but he feels like moving west. I think he'll fit in pretty good in La-La Land."

Noah's attention sharpened. "We're too far north to be La-La. What's the kid's name?"

"Jordan Parrish," Jamal replied. "I'll send you his file and you can let me know if you're interested."

The sheriff was definitely interested. It wouldn't bring them up to full strength, but it was still a shift he could spend at home, having a no-stress, decompress, day off with beer. God, he wanted one of those.

“Send it to me,” he said. “I’ll make sure it goes on the top of the pile.”

-o0o-

 

Derek had survived the meeting with Kate's defense lawyers—as in three of them—tag teaming him just like they did on TV. They'd asked him about his captivity, about Laura's death, Peter's attack, Kate's statement. They'd asked about his sexual history with Kate, with anyone. His relationship with his uncle, with his sister, with the rest of his dead family.

The session had left him feeling slimy and young, and _so_ unprepared. He almost preferred the reporters. Their questions were invasive, but they were also generally irrelevant.

They’d asked him what he felt now that the remaining members of his family were dead.

“Awful,” he’d said, and then he’d shut his mouth.

If he'd spent more time looking into the victims of the ‘animal attacks’, instead of trying to convince McCall to join him, he might have figured out they were all connected to the fire that had decimated his family. With that, he maybe could've figured out that Peter, his uncle-brother, had killed them all.

He would've known that Peter was crazy with grief and he could've, maybe, ambushed him and taken the alpha power for himself. Then omegas would've been drawn to _him_. He could've built his own pack, a new Hale pack, and he would've been safe and not so alone.

His instincts wouldn’t be nagging at him to go to the sheriff, to sit in the park across from his office, and hope for the chance to beg for the alpha's acceptance. Considering the sheriff was a made werewolf and a packless alpha, the incessant pull to be close to the man was annoying.

Derek should've had some protection from wanting acceptance by an alpha that wasn’t Laura and could never replace her, but he didn’t. Even now, halfway across the county and surrounded by the memories of his family, Derek knew exactly where Sheriff Stilinski was. He could just start walking, following that pull, and he'd go right up to him.

One of Stilinski’s deputies had come up to Derek after his meeting with Kate’s lawyers and had asked what it was like to work with werewolves? Because, apparently, Stilinski _had_ _told his deputies_ about his "change in circumstances,” and gave them all a chance to leave the sheriff’s department.

Because the man was obviously _an idiot._

Derek didn’t want to feel drawn to the sheriff, but the man needed a frigging keeper and Derek’s wolf obviously thought that it should be him. He had even offered Stilinski “wolf” lessons. They were meeting on Saturday so he could give the sheriff pointers.

Hours and hours with the alpha going through Werewolf 101…

Derek would’ve bashed his head against the parking meter, but he’d had enough of people looking at him today.

-o0o-

 

Allison decided school still sucked.

It had been two weeks, but the kids still stared and gossiped and giggled. The teachers frowned in fear or pity, but they were just as curious as the students.

“So how was the new counsellor?” Stiles asked once they’d gathered for lunch in the north cafeteria.

That was something else that sucked. She’d been told to use her free period to see Ms. Morell, “to help her deal with the trauma of Kate’s arrest”. As if she could tell a high school shrink-wannabe the truth!

“It went okay,” Allison said. “She seemed nice.”

“Huh.” Stiles looked thoughtful.

“You thinking of going?”

He shrugged. “I dream about it sometimes. It’s not fun.”

He’d been at the station, Allison suddenly remembered. “You saw the attack.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said with another shrug. “I also saw him die, so… There’s that.”

“Can we talk about something that _isn’t_ crazy people?” Lydia asked with a roll of her eyes.

“I dunno, Lydia,” Scott said, expression earnest and serious. “We’re teenagers. A lot of people think we’re crazy by default.”

Lydia gave a delicate snort. “Hormones. They make everyone crazy." She leaned toward Allison, a satisfied smile making her seem a little cat-like. "Speaking of hormones, Aiden without his shirt is even better than I’d imagined.”

“When did you see him with his shirt off?” was Stiles’ question. “You haven’t slept with him, have you?” was Allison's.

Stiles, Lydia ignored, but she raised an eyebrow at Allison. “You sound very judgmental about my sex life.”

“I, I'm not... It’s not about you having sex,” Allison backtracked. “I just don’t... He’s...” She stopped. Tried again to figure out what it was about the twins that bothered her so. It was something about the way they moved so tightly around each other; how they were always close to each other. She could totally see them dog-piling at night and not even realizing that it was inappropriate at their age.

“When did you see him with his shirt off?”

Lydia finally turned to Stiles. “Really not any of your business.”

Stiles looked crushed, but if he hadn’t figured out Lydia wasn’t ever saying yes to him…

“Don't you think they’re a little strange?” Scott asked. “Like, closer than normal brothers?”

“How would you know? You don’t have brothers,” Lydia pointed out.

"I got Stiles," Scott fired back and his best friend perked back up. "Thanks, Scott." "No problem, bro."

While they fist-bumped in the background, Allison organized her objections. “It doesn’t bother you that they never seem to do anything without the other?”

Lydia's smile widened. "They probably don't do one thing together."

"Or that they stare at Scott and Stiles whenever they're in the same room?"

Lydia glanced over the two boys. "That could be Ethan. But he's going after Danny, so I can't fault his taste."

"Danny's hot," Stiles said.

Scott agreed. "Everybody likes Danny."

Allison sighed. It was possible, but she still didn’t believe it. Unfortunately, she really didn't have any basis for her antagonism, just her hind brain screeching at her the way it did when her grandfather was in the room. “I’m sorry, Lyds. They give me the creeps.”

“I agree with Allison,” Scott said. “I think they're dangerous.”

Lydia smirked. “Dangerous can be fun.”

Scott suddenly looked bigger, fiercer. “And sometimes dangerous is deadly. Have you forgotten that night we were trapped in the school? Was that fun?”

Lydia was finally looking at them fully. “Are you kidding me? You’re comparing two teenage boys to some kind of wild... whatever?” She waved her hand, dismissing both the danger and the memory.

“Lydia, come on,” Allison pleaded. “How many times have we heard about something awful happening and thought ‘how could they have not known’? At least wait a couple weeks before approaching Aiden again. See how he behaves—if he gets possessive or weird.”

“Yeah,” Scott backed her up. Then ruined it. “Besides, if you want to make Jackson nuts, you should go out with Stiles again.”

Stiles jumped back into the conversation with a “Huh? What?” Allison elbowed Scott in the side. Hard.

Lydia just rolled her eyes, and rose from her chair. “This has nothing to do with Jackson.” Allison’s reapplied elbow encouraged Scott to keep his mouth shut this time, and Lydia smiled. “Later.”

Allison waited until Lydia had driven away before turning on Scott. “How could you say that?”

Scott looked bewildered. “Say what?”

“That stuff about making Jackson jealous,” she explained.

“But isn’t that what she’s trying to do?”

“Well, yeah,” Allison admitted. “But you can’t just point that out to her. Now she’ll date Aiden just to prove that it’s not true.”

“But it _is_ true,” Scott defended himself.

“That’s not the point!”

“Just give it up, Scott,” Stiles advised. “Lydia’s going to go for him no matter what argument you use.”

“We could tell her that they’re werewolves.”

Allison shook her head. “Nooo. How does that make sense?”

“She hardly seems like she’d be into it,” Scott argued. “Plus then we could tell her that they’re probably here to kill the sheriff.”

Stiles dropped his pudding. “What?”

“We don’t know that,” Allison said to comfort Stiles.

Scott gave Stiles an apologetic glance. “We kind of do.”

“We do?” Stiles asked, voice rising as he started to panic.

“I talked to Derek about them,” Scott said gently. “He said they’re part of this 'Alpha Pack' that’s moved into town. He said that wherever they go, bad things happen to the local pack."

"Dad doesn't have a pack."

"He has me," Scott said. "If you're my bro, dude, then he's kind of family."

Stiles smiled at him, practically glowing.

"Will you be enough?" Allison asked.

Scott looked sad but determined. "Probably not."

-o0o-

 

It was Saturday. A day off.

Was he at home on the couch with a beer? No. Instead, the sheriff stood in Henry Tate’s pecan grove under the trees and felt like an idiot.

“I feel like an idiot.”

“I don't know how to explain it any better,” Derek apologized. He'd been tense since they started, and had only drawn himself tighter as the sheriff failed to grasp the nature of ‘territorial awareness’.

“I told you to use the Jedi mind trick explanation,” Stiles huffed from the sidelines. His son had insisted on joining them in the outdoors since Scott was spending the day with Allison. He’d been making lots of suggestions, but he hadn’t made it any easier for the sheriff to understand.

It didn’t help that Derek flinched slightly at Stiles’ remark, as if he were expecting pain or rejection. It made the sheriff claws itch.

It also made his voice softer when he replied. “This is absolutely not your fault. I am trained to look for evidence—material proof of tangible crimes. All this... feel the Force stuff is a little hard to wrap my head around.”

Noah had always been physically demonstrative. He had no problem hugging his son or Scott whenever they seemed to need it. He would, and did, comfort victims and witnesses to whatever extent they (and regulations) would allow. He had no problem reaching out to Derek now, and giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He even left his hand there when it seemed like the younger man leaned into it.

“You're doing OK.” Derek gave him a small smile. “Your control's better than mine would be if I'd just become the alpha.”

“You’re doing better than Scott did,” Stiles poked in. “Learning control, I mean. Not the psychic awareness stuff—I don’t think he’s even tried that stuff.” He frowned then shook himself. “Anyway, you’ll get it, just probably not… today?” Stiles trailed off, maybe realizing that he had been less than encouraging. “I could throw rocks at you?”

Derek rolled his eyes.

With a final pat, the sheriff let go of Derek’s shoulder. “This is more than just keeping my claws in. Weaponry I understand. Aura’s and psychic power?” He blew out an exasperated breath.

“Don't think of it as psychic,” Derek offered. “It's a kind of focus. Like people who do Tai Chi, or endurance races. They’re just _there_ , but also not.”

The sheriff's brow lifted. “Like target shooting. _That_ I can do.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles crowed. “Dad’s a great shot. Took first place at a competition for California police, back when he was a deputy. Beat out some guy from the L.A. SWAT team even...”

The sheriff took a breath before he dropped onto a crouch. He put one hand on the ground and went still. Around him, Derek froze and Stiles’ babble died off.

Noah raised a handful of dirt and let it dribble through his fingers. He concentrated on the feel, the smell. How the breeze changed the direction of its fall. He listened as it landed on the ground then widened his focus, so he could hear the leaves rustling at the top of the trees and figure out the breeze's direction and velocity. It was like being a sniper again, but he was aware of so much more than he had been then. He could feel the difference between the decaying leaves and leaked motor oil mixed in with the dirt. He could smell a bird’s nest—abandoned now, but one that was used year after year. He could smell the underground warrens of field mice and rabbits, urine and markings of the fox and coyotes that hunted them. A whole world revealed to his newly-enhanced senses.

It was overwhelming.

He took a few quick breaths through his mouth—the old techniques coming back to him.

Once he was settled into the increased input, he opened his eyes. He watched the ground maybe 100 yards in front of them, but he didn’t focus on it. In his peripheral vision, dim sunlight pushed through the leaf cover and made the dirt glow.

It wasn’t the only thing glowing.

Three energy signatures hit him. Derek, who, unsurprisingly, had an electric field Stilinski could practically feel against his skin. Stiles’ field was a surprise. It was thin, but it flared at odd intervals which could be a result of his ADD.

However, there was a third spot, bright with energy similar to Derek’s. Whatever was making it, its location was somewhere to the northeast, on the edge of the Tate’s land, in the rough woods too steep for cultivating.

Hiding, Noah thought. Why was it hiding?

The sheriff didn't think before loping off to investigate. He ignored Stiles’ protest, because he needed to know what creature was in his territory.

He was aware that Derek followed, pacing him easily on his left, and the idea of having the born werewolf by his side near was comfortable. Right.

It didn't take long for them to leave the grove for uncultivated forest. They had to slow down some on the uneven ground, but the trail remained bright and obvious to the sheriff. They clambered through a wide gully. A thicket of blackberry brambles blocked the path. It was an easy jump to clear it.

Strangely, the sheriff’s awareness of the woods didn't bleed away as they ran. Instead, he was very aware of the _denseness_ of the energy that saturated this part of the wood. It wasn't natural. (Although the sheriff's concept of natural vs not natural had changed considerably since meeting Derek Hale: Natural-Born Werewolf.)

There was some deep energy underlying everything, but atop that, there were fainter energy signatures. He recognized Derek’s and Scott’s. A couple spiky paths reminded him of Stiles, (though again, Noah wasn't sure why his son would be emitting supernatural energy). There was also a distant, unfamiliar track, hinting of desperation and fear. He would have to come back to that one.

For now, he already had a scent to follow. It wasn't a bear, or a raccoon, or badger. Neither was the... the energy source (for lack of a less esoteric term) a werewolf.

“It’s not a werewolf,” he said aloud, and Derek jumped.

“I don’t know,” Derek replied. “I can’t tell.”

Derek couldn’t feel it. If he couldn’t feel it, why was he following Noah?

“Yeah,” the sheriff answered, not even puffing. “It’s not the same you or Scott, but it’s not completely different either.”

It wasn't until they came across the car that the sheriff understood.

“What happened here?” Derek’s question pulled the sheriff from his focused state. And kicked him into old regret.

“Accident,” Stilinski replied shortly. “The car left the road and landed here. By the time it was found, mother and one child were dead. The second daughter was missing. Presumed dragged off by an animal.” But had it been just a normal animal?

“How long ago was the accident?” Derek asked.

"Seven years.” Noah had been a deputy when it happened, just starting his run for sheriff. He was ashamed that he'd worried, (just a little) that his failure to find Malia's body would be bad for his election chances.

“What were their names?”

The sheriff's eyebrows went up at the question. “Tate. Evelyn, Malia and Lynsey Tate,” he answered peaceably enough. “Malia is the one who went missing.”

Derek stood for a moment, frowning, before shaking his head. “I don't remember my parents talking about any Tates. They weren’t pack, and they weren’t invaders.”

“And not were-anything else?” Stilinski asked.

Derek shook his head. “Not back then, at least.”

The sheriff tapped his belt while he thought. If Evelyn Tate had been attacked by a feral were-creature, it could’ve caused her to swerve off the road.

The previous sheriff, Sheriff Dowd, had rejected the possibility that the family had been attacked while driving, but maybe… Now that Noah knew werewolves and other ghosty-goblin types were real… Maybe it wasn’t so far-fetched after all.

The Tate’s car had careened down the side of the ravine, rolling at least once, until it came to rest on its roof. Malia Tate's door had come off. She’d might’ve been thrown out, which was why she hadn’t died in the car like her mother and sister. However, the 11-year-old had been alone and vulnerable, and she’d disappeared from the crash scene without leaving a trace.

The sheriff’s department had searched along the road and deeper into the woods, but they had found nothing. Two months later, Sheriff Dowd had added her to National Center for Missing & Exploited Children database, but the sheriff had assumed her dead after the first week. Killed by the elements or by any of the predators that lived in the preserve. That was what they’d told Henry Tate. It was what Noah had written in the official report.

Now, however…

If the car _had_ been attacked by a were, it was possible it had tracked Malia down and bitten her. She could've survived the accident and maybe the last seven years as well. This was exactly the cold case he’d asked Gus Trejo to look into.

“How do I find her?”

Derek stared at him. “I don't know,” he said. “The same way you found the car?”

Remembering he was more than human now, Noah drew a full breath in through his nose.

He nearly gagged. The area was saturated with pain and loneliness. Using his wolfy powers was out—no way was he getting beyond scents and feelings that strong. That was frustrating, because easy tracking was supposed to be one of the perks of being a werewolf.

With a huff, the sheriff set his disappointment aside. He rested his hands on his hips, automatically keeping them high enough to rest on the police belt he wasn’t wearing.

This was a case, he decided. No different from any other missing person. First, look for clues in the last place the person was known to have been. In other words, the car that had contained her family. The sheriff climbed down into the gully. Once at the bottom he crawled around and over the disintegrating vehicle, grateful, once more, that his knees didn't click and lock like they had last month.

Outside the vehicle, there were no obvious signs of recent activity. The sheriff shifted his attention to the car itself.

There were gouges in the paint—symmetrical slashes as would be made by a clawed hand. There were a couple bullet holes in the side paneling, proving that _someone_ had found the abandoned vehicle and used it for target practice. Or, he pointed out to himself, someone had shot at the car on the road, and that's what caused the crash. He'd have to check the original report, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t seen any bullet holes at the time.

Finally, he stuck his head inside. The upholstery was rotting and half gone, and there were leaves decomposing in small piles in the corners. A doll was wedged in the corner of the back seat, one-eyed and dirty. It didn't look like it was home to any small animals.

He pulled out. “If you were a field mouse or a raccoon, wouldn't you think this was a good place for a den?”

Derek's eyebrows went up. “No. It stinks of coyote.” The sheriff waited for more. There wasn't any.

“Right,” he said. He ignored Derek's little smirk. God knew the boy didn't have much to be amused by right now. Instead, Noah popped his head back in the car. This time he picked up the doll. It was the only thing of personal significance in the vehicle. It could've been left by exploring kids anytime since the accident, but Stilinski didn't think so. This had belonged to Lynsey or Malia Tate.

“Sheriff?” Derek's voice was calm, but it demanded a response.

The sheriff climbed out of the wreck, bringing the doll with him. “Yeah?” he asked. Derek jerked his chin toward the other side of the ravine.

A large, tawny coyote stood facing them. It had its feet spread and its teeth bared. If they'd been closer, or if he’d still been ultra-focused, Stilinski was sure he would hear it growling. Only when it saw the doll he carried, did its growl become easily audible. He squeezed the doll, and the coyote barked.

Why would a coyote react to a doll?

“Malia?” the sheriff asked. The coyote flinched. “Malia,” he repeated but as a statement. “I'm Sheriff Stilinski of Beacon County. This is Derek Hale. We're werewolves, but we're not here to hurt you.” The coyote barked, short and sharp.

“I don't think she believes you,” Derek commented.

The sheriff ignored him. “You are Malia Tate,” he stated firmly, reinforcing her humanity. “And your father has been missing you for seven years.”

He hadn't even finished speaking before the coyote burst into a frenzy of barking and growling.

“At least she still understands human speech.”

“Not helpful,” he muttered. Derek shrugged.

“Malia,” the sheriff repeated her name. “I need you to switch back to your human form, Malia. That way we can talk.” More growling. Rejection. Defiance.

“Malia—” She didn’t let him say anymore before barking and snarling. Her paws tore up the ground

The sheriff felt his skin heat in frustration. Here was this scrawny little coyote, threatening him, ignoring his commands. _In his territory_.

“She’s gonna attack,” Derek warned.

That was completely unacceptable. He was only trying to _help._

He felt the change. Claws extended from his fingers. His teeth elongated. He knew his eyes would be red, and that was okay. In fact, it was all good. It would help him bring this pesky coyote under control. He didn’t bother with her name—this was no longer a negotiation—instead, he opened his mouth. And _roared_.

-o0o-

 

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Derek could feel the change that the sheriff was demanding. It was meant for the coyote, but Derek could feel it forcing out his claws and his teeth. Stilinski wasn’t his alpha, and yet he wanted to submit. He wanted to drop to the ground, and whine for forgiveness. Anything, to make the alpha happy.

He’s not my alpha, Derek reminded himself. He dug his claws into his palms _and stayed human!_

The command was so loud…

It would be so simple to obey…

It would be easy…

Derek swayed with the force of his desire to do as the sheriff demanded…

Then the noise was gone.

He stumbled, catching himself before he fell into the ravine. ‘Thank god,’ he thought, breathing deep to bring his wolf back under control. Once that was done, he looked up, across the ravine. The scraggly coyote had been replaced by an equally scraggly girl. She was sixteen or so, and completely naked. She lifted her hand and stared at it before looking at the sheriff.

She looked lost, Derek realized. Lost and scared and bewildered.

“Malia. You’re safe.” Sheriff Stilinski’s voice was clear, but gentle. “We’re not going to hurt you. It’s been seven years, and it’s time for you to come home.”

The girl, Malia, whimpered. It was a pup’s whine, and it hurt to hear it. This had been him after the fire.

“You’re going to be fine, Malia,” the sheriff crooned. “We need to get you checked out, but then you can go home. You don’t need to be afraid.”

She shivered. “Are you cold, Malia?” the sheriff asked. “I suppose you would be if you’ve lived the last seven years with a fur coat. We’ll get you some clothes. They’re like fur, but not attached.”

Derek stared at the sheriff in disapproval. Wearing clothes—with its irritating textures and seams—was nothing like wearing fur. Lying to your beta was a bad way to start a pack.

Not that Malia _was_ Stilinski’s beta, of course. Plus, she was a coyote. Still, she was going to need someone...

“I’m going to come to you.” The sheriff took a couple slow steps. “I’ll give you my jacket. It’ll be nice and warm—if a little short.” A couple steps more. “It’s not a complete as fur, but it’s all I’ve got until we get back to my patrol car.”

Malia reared back. Whether in fright or anger, Derek couldn’t tell.

The sheriff saw her reaction. “Yes, we are going in a car. No, you are not going to freak out. You’ll be perfectly safe.” He paused. “And even if there is an accident, none of us are exactly human. We’ll survive.”

He’d reached Malia by then. She looked up at him like a baby bird waiting for food from its mama. The sheriff removed his jacket and carefully wrapped her up. He stuffed her arms through the holes, and gently examined her hands for any damage. All the while he kept up a steady stream of explanations—what he was doing, why he was touching her, what they would do next. All of it in an unflappable tone that said that she _could_ do this, because they _would_ be doing this.

A memory rose in Derek. Of his mother, speaking the same way, moving with that same slow patience. His sister would’ve grown to be the same. She’d shown flashes of that same gentle steel when dealing with him and his issues. Derek nearly choked at the _want_ he felt. They’d been his family, his _alphas_ , and he wanted them back.

There was scrabbling in the bushes, and Derek heard a familiar heartbeat. Stiles stumbled into the ravine, wheezing like an old hand-pump. “What’d I miss?” he panted. “Who’s that?”

“If you give me the keys, I’ll bring your cruiser up.” Once he had the keys, Derek didn’t wait for Stilinski’s reply. Instead, he let himself half-shift and left them all behind.

Anything to get away.

-o0o-

 

Allison knew she should stop complaining to Scott about Gerard, but her grandfather was really weird, and her parents were really stressed, and school sucked, and everything was just generally awful, _except_ Scott.

He sat with her on the uncomfortable, grungy bench in front of City Hall and let her talk. He didn’t say ‘you’re being ridiculous’, or ‘it’ll be alright’ or anything stupid like that. He just listened. And held her hand. And asked, “What can I do to help?”

“Unless you can get Gerard out of my house, you can’t do anything.”

“I can give you a hug?” he said. “I know the patented Stilinski technique, guaranteed to make you feel better.”

“ _Stiles_ taught you how to hug?” She laughed, but she also leaned into him for that hug.

“The sheriff did,” Scott said softly. “After my dad left.”

“He’s a good person, huh?” she asked, cocooned nicely against Scott’s chest.

“He tries to be,” Scott replied.

His firm response made Allison more determined than ever to stop Gerard’s from ruining the sheriff’s career. Maybe telling Scott everything _had_ been a good idea. He would tell Stiles, Stiles would warn the sheriff, and the sheriff would be able to fight back. No one would have to know that she had planned it.

Suddenly, Scott flinched, a quick, all-over tightening of his muscles that nearly cracked her ribs. It always surprised her how strong he was.

“Scott?” She pulled back, needing to see his face. His face was pinched. His teeth clenched. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said. It was her turn to frown. “At least, it’ll pass.”

“What’s wrong?” But even as she asked, she could see the tension leave his face. “What happened?”

He rolled his head around, stretching his neck. Then he wiggled his jaw to get rid of the tension there. “I don’t know. It was like a spike ran up my spine and then tugged.”

Allison’s shoulders slumped in understanding. “Those are awful,” she responded sympathetically. “I always expect it to happen again.”

“Yeah,” Scott smiled. “It’s gone now, but...” He shrugged.

Allison gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. It was a little scratchy, like he needed to shave, but it felt kinda nice, too. “You know what makes me feel better after one of those attacks?” Scott shook his head.

“Snuggling on the couch with ice cream and a bad movie.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him off the bench. "Your mom's at work, right? We can go to your place."

Scott, the big doofus, just smiled and let himself be tugged.

-o0o-

 

Once they’d found Malia, the rest of day was a lost cause.

Between Child Protection Services, medical examinations, and the paperwork needed to remove her from the missing children’s registry, the sheriff had barely enough time to think let alone ‘expand his awareness’.

Still, as a first effort it had gone well, he guessed. Well enough that he’d found Malia Tate. A lost kid who'd blamed herself for the deaths of her mother and sister because she'd shifted for the first time in the back of their car. It felt good to have done good with his new abilities. In fact, it felt great.

Derek had taken off as soon as he could, promising to give his statement later, but Stiles had stuck around the hospital.

Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly, considering how often he'd done it now—Stiles had been the one to reassure Malia about being a were and learning to control her shift. The girl had actually looked better by the end of Stiles’ ramble, maybe even seemed slightly amused. The sheriff had a feeling she'd be OK in the long run. Well, to a Beacon Hills level of OK.

Stiles had ruined it once Astiago showed up to be the female escorting officer. His son had taken him aside, and warned him about feral coyotes, and the bad blood between them and wolves in the wild, _and high-freaking-blood pressure!_

“Just go home, Stiles,” he’d said with clenched teeth. There would be no discussions of shifts, or claws or fur in front of the nice lady with the clipboard. Ms. Abrenath had brought Malia better clothes and some feminine supplies. Then she’d shooed the sheriff away with a promise to update him on Monday.

He’d dropped Stiles off at home then gone back to the station to fill in the forms and reports. When he got there, it was as if some of the people were surprised that he’d bothered to do the decent thing now that he was a werewolf. He’d weathered the awkward congratulations until he felt like sprouting claws just to get them all to _shut up_.

Then Astiago had returned from escorting Malia to her father. She’d been excited and impressed by the rescue, adding her congratulations to everyone else’s, but with less insult and more genuineness. When he accepted her ‘way to go’, the spark had been back in her eyes. It gave him hope that she wouldn’t request a transfer after all.

Since he was here anyways, he took some time to look over the applications that had made it past Tara and Wanda. One, Victoria Romero, was the daughter of Jesus Romero who’d retired in 2006, and the info on Jordan Parrish looked good, so Noah told Wanda to arrange those interviews. The others looked okay, but Noah would be calling their previous supervisors to make sure.

If he was going to be calling around anyway, maybe he’d reach out to some of the other sheriffs who’d contacted him since Peter’s attack. They could catch up on the newest gossip, and he could feel them out about possible transfers. Maybe, like Jamal, they had people with itchy feet.

-o0o-

 


	5. Action Is Its Own Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek doesn't have fun shopping, the sheriff has a hard time with the politics of being sheriff, and Allison is starting to hate family dinner.

Derek could hear them whispering even over the hum of the dairy coolers: customers and staff who recognized him as “that” Derek Hale: the man who'd been tortured; the boy who’d survived the fire that had killed his whole family, the guy that woman said was a werewolf.

They whispered, "He looks perfectly normal"; "He _does_ look dangerous"; "Didn’t he inherit everything?"

All he wanted was some goddamned milk.

-o0o-

 

Chris didn't like being stared at. Part of being a successful hunter was being inconspicuous. However, thanks to his selfish sister blabbing about werewolves, inconspicuous was out of his reach.

He tried to ignore all of it—the staring, the behind the hand whispering. All he needed was eggs, because his ultra-efficient wife hadn't accounted for three of his father's men stopping by for breakfast _every freaking day_ and they'd run out.

Gerard had managed to make Victoria doubt herself, when she hadn’t doubted herself for nearly 15 years.

He stopped in front of the eggs, and resented the hell out of them.

It took him a moment to realize the store around him had gone silent. The only sound was from the dairy cooler. Then there was a soft “thwuck” as the cooler door sealed shut.

Chris turned.

Of course, it was Derek Hale in front of the milk. He wondered how many shoppers had stopped to watch them, hoping for a confrontation they could upload to YouTube.

“Derek,” he said with a nod.

“Chris.” Derek matched his own careful tone.

A quick glance over his shoulder proved that they had an avid audience, which meant there was no easy way out of this. Chris sighed. He hated confrontations where he had to be polite.

“I'm sorry about what happened to you.” He hoped that was good enough to let him grab the eggs and get out of here. From Derek's raised eyebrows, Chris didn't think he was leaving yet.

“Which time? And for what?” Derek growled.

Damn it! This really wasn't a discussion to have in the grocery store. He leaned closer, and kept his voice low. “For what happened when you were fifteen. For the fire.” He didn't apologize for his sister torturing him, because as a werewolf there’d been no permanent damage done. Derek would've already shrugged that off.

“We have a Code, and there's no doubt that Kate violat—”

“You hunt those who hunt humans, right?” Derek asked, voice mild.

At first, Chris was startled: why would Derek Hale know his family's code? Then he realized that, just as hunters studied supernatural creatures, those creatures—the sentient ones at least—had probably been studying hunters.

Chris nodded. “It's important to us—”

“Is it?” Derek snapped. “Really? Because I hadn't been hunting anything when you had your men break my window at the gas station. Not even a fluffy bunny as a snack.”

He’d moved closer, but Chris forced his posture to stay relaxed. “We had questions—”

“My sister wasn't hunting you when one of you sliced her in half.”

Chris looked around and then lowered his voice. “It was a precaution. She was already dead.”

“My family wasn't. Dead, I mean. Kate trapped them in our house and burned them alive.” Derek leaned in. “No one in my family had done anything that justified that.”

“I already said that,” Chris argued.

Derek wasn’t listening. “I bet you didn't even care.” Derek didn't sound angry, just baffled. Like a survivor of violence trying to understand _why_.

“If it had been any other family,” Derek continued. “A 'normal' family—you'd've been horrified at the loss of life. But I bet you just shrugged—you and your psychotic relatives. I bet you thought the fire saved you from killing us later.” Derek finally sneered. “And you call _us_ animals.”

He didn't wait for Chris to respond before striding away, milk in hand.

Not that Chris _had_ a response, because Derek was right. He’d mourned the dead babies, but for every other Hale, he _had_ thought exactly what Derek accused him of.

Chris stared at the eggs on display: white, brown, large, extra-large, pumped up with Omega-3s, and free-range organic. Chickens that would never be.

He turned around and walked through the still-gawking crowd. His father’s men could buy their own damn breakfasts.

-o0o-

 

Noah had a morning meeting with the county council. It was early enough there was no point in going to the station, so he had enough time to make a proper breakfast for him and Stiles. He looked up from the hash browns he was spreading on the tray, (baked, not deep-fried, because Stiles _still_ thought his arteries were delicate.)

Noah sensed movement, sensed Stiles. When he looked up, his son was standing in the doorway with a gleaming, big smile.

“No.”

Stiles' smile dropped away. “I haven't even asked yet.”

“It's something dangerous or illegal. Or some combination of the two,” the sheriff said. “If Scott's with you, add stupid.”

“Hey,” Stiles protested. “That's not fair.”

The sheriff pretended to think. “You're right. You don't need Scott around to do something stupid.” He heard an odd tick in his son's heartbeat; saw a quick flash of hurt. He would've missed the signs before, but not now. It made his own heart jump. He hadn’t meant to _hurt_ Stiles…

He crossed over to his son, and squeezed his shoulder gently. “You just have to think it's a good idea. Or that it's the right thing to do. Or that it'll protect your friends. You're a good kid, Stiles, but you don't always _think_.”

Embarrassed, Stiles looked away. The uncertainty with which his son viewed himself was enough to cause Noah to gather Stiles into his arms.

“We're hugging now? It's hugging time?” The tone was caustic, but Stiles returned the hug fiercely. “You used your wolfy powers on me, didn't you? I think that's, like, against the law or something.”

“Parents are allowed to cheat. It says so in the handbook.” It took six minutes for Stiles to twitch with the need to move. Sheriff Stilinski allowed himself to enjoy every second before stepping away. He kept his hands-on Stiles' shoulders, looked him in the eyes, and made sure to keep his tone light. “The answer's still no.” The sheriff went back to preparing breakfast.

Stiles, of course, followed him. “Can I ask the question first? It's about Malia Tate.”

“What about her?” Had Stiles discovered something that made her a danger to herself or others?

“It’s just...” Stiles fidgeted with the eggs until Noah took them away from him. “She's gonna come to school eventually, and, and—given the famously bad relationship between coyotes and wolves—I was thinking that it'd be a good idea if she met Scott outside of school. That way—if it turns into a fight—it won't be around a bunch of squishy humans.”

It was a pretty good idea, except; “Scott can fight?” the sheriff asked in disbelief.

Stiles shrugged, fidgeting. “Well... He'd defend himself. Or me.”

“Oh. You're going to be there?” Of course, Stiles planned to be there.

“Well, yeah! I may be 100% human, but I hang with Scott and I live with you! I probably reek of wolf.”

He should resist. He really should resist...

Screw it. He was allowed to tease his only child.

“Actually, you smell like a normal teenage boy. Post-pubescent.” Noah winced dramatically. “All those hormones making you...” Noah pumped his hand a couple times. “ _Active_.”

Color rose in Stiles' cheeks. His eyes opened wide, and his mouth dropped in horror. “Oh my god! Why would you _say_ that?” Stiles dug his fingers into his hair, and he practically blurred he was hopping so fast.

It was funny, Noah thought. Stiles used to do the same thing when he was a kid. It had made Claudia laugh—watching her Little Mischief. The sheriff couldn't keep the smile off his face.

Stiles froze when he saw the sheriff's smile. “You are _evil,_ ” Stiles announced, looking like a dropped cat.

Noah laughed outright. “Gotcha.”

When Stiles didn’t stop his muttering or his circling, it occurred to the sheriff that Stiles might not be consider it harmless teasing. That, like his earlier joke that Stiles made stupid decisions, his words might cause his son pain. That it would somehow make Stiles feel like he couldn’t ‘relax’ in his own home…

That wasn’t what he wanted at all.

The sheriff made his voice so very gentle. “No need to be embarrassed, Stiles. Sex–”

“AHH!” Stiles shouted, hands over his ears.

“–especially masturbation–”

“AaaAAHHhh!”

“—is completely normal, and completely okay.” Noah’s eyes narrowed. “As long as you put everything in the wash or the garbage afterwards,” he clarified. “Please don’t hide it under the bed.”

Stiles stared at him, eyes wide in horror. “Why can’t you be like other parents? They pretend their kids don’t have sex until there are actual _grandkids_ on the way _._ ”

“I'm not that old, Stiles,” the sheriff reminded his son. “I know there are many ways to become a parent that don’t require intercourse–”

“Oh my _god_!”

The sheriff hesitated. He knew Stiles had problems with acceptance at school, just as he’d had problems with acceptance at camp, and Boy Scouts. It meant Stiles shouldn't have to worry about acceptance at home, and Noah could give that to his son. It was an opening if he made it one.

He took a breath, and let it out. He said, “There are lots of options for couples. No matter what their gender or sexual preference. Like _in vitro_ , or adoption, if your partner is also male.”

Once again, Stiles stopped to stare at him. This time it was shock, not horror. The moment stretched, but the sheriff had all the patience in the world for this.

Stiles swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“It means I love you, no matter who you choose to love.”

There was nothing, just blinking, until Stiles closed his mouth.

The sheriff waited.

“So…” Stiles swallowed. “So, you know…”

“I know,” the sheriff admitted. “Thanks to my freaky new werewolf powers, I know. And I don’t care.”

Stiles' eyes were suspiciously shiny, and the sheriff's eyes itched with the same emotion, but whatever emotionally-charged action might have happened next was blocked by the puff of smoke from the oven and the subsequent fire alarm.

By the time they’d stopped the alarm and cleared the smoke, the serious moment had passed, but Noah noticed the more relaxed set to his son’s shoulders and back and thought that, just maybe, this was another way his unwanted werewolf senses could be used for good.

-o0o-

 

The meeting with the county council had been more annoying than usual, or maybe he had less patience. Either way, he’d sat through the posturing discussion about planning the new law enforcement building wanting to roar at the County Supervisor to just stop being _an idiot!_

Shay Hardwicke was a hard-nosed woman about his age. She’d been Chair of the Appropriations Committee since before Noah became sheriff, and she hadn’t given it up when she’d been elected County Supervisor (though she probably should have). They would never be friends and he didn’t respect her enough to think it a shame, but he’d at least thought they’d built a decent professional relationship over the years.

Hardwicke had spent the whole hour sniping at him, dismissing half of what he said before he’d even finished saying it. It was like they’d gone back to his first days as sheriff, when the councilwoman had blamed him for beating her cousin in the election.

And no decision had been made.

Noah was barely out the door of city hall, when Rita called him. There’d been an attack on an ambulance out on the Hi-way 5 “by something very hairy.”

-o0o-

 

Sheriff Stilinski stared into the back of the ambulance. There was blood everywhere. Probably because whatever had attacked, had ripped open the chest and stomach of the 50-year-old male patient being transported. His liver was gone, just like at the cemetery. However, the creature hadn’t killed the EMT or the driver.

The EMT was sitting in the back of the squad car. Astiago had given the woman tea from her thermos. She’d been closest to the attacker, and had provided the “very hairy” description. Noah and Haigh were standing near the engine with the driver. He kept looking through the windshield, making sure she was okay.

“Linda, my partner?” the driver said shakily. Astiago nodded encouragingly. “She’d just told me that she couldn’t get his heart started again. It had already stopped twice,” he reminded them. “So I was slowing down, because… no rush, you know?”

“And that’s when you were attacked,” the sheriff prompted.

“He tore the back door off. Just… _rip_!” The driver waved his hands. “The truck shook. I thought we’d been rear-ended. Then Linda screamed.” He looked at them. “I looked back and this hairy guy, dirty hair. Greasy, you know?” They nodded. “He had a hand in the guy’s stomach. And Linda.” He stopped. His head jerked. “She was trying to drag him off. She had his free hand in some wrestler’s hold—she likes that stuff—but he just flicked her off. Sent her into the shelving. She’s okay, right?” He looked through the window.

“Bruises. A few contusions,” Haigh answered. “Another ambulance is on its way.”

“I don’t think I want to ride in an ambulance,” the driver said. “I don’t think Linda will either.” The sheriff could understand that. He watched as Haigh completed the interview.

Haigh was a decent officer, Careful and calm, he’d go back over the event. His demeanor calmed the driver enough that more details could be remembered, impressions glimpsed and recorded in the driver’s mind, were teased out. Noah didn’t think he’d never get much above sergeant, so he hoped the guy could be happy at that rank. He was good at this though.

The description the driver gave didn’t sound promising for the perpetrator to be a regular human: hairy cheeks, distorted mouth, and long pointed fingernails.

The sheriff moved closer to the ambulance’s back end and sniffed. His neck hair rose when he recognized the scent—the same werewolf who’d dug up the grave just three days ago.

He took his wolfy nose and his alpha senses to the edge of the pavement, and tried to find the trail of the stray werewolf. No luck. Noah still wasn’t a very good werewolf, though. He couldn’t smell anything over the diesel stink and the blood—not enough to commit to a direction, at least.

Noah stuck around to talk to the supervisor the ambulance company sent. He let Haigh and Astiago leave with the Linda and the EMT while he supervised the transfer of the body into a coroner’s van. He signed the work order for the ambulance to be towed to the police lab. He did everything he needed to, and when he could finally climb back into his own vehicle, he pulled out his cell phone.

“Derek. Who in town knows the most about the supernatural?”

-o0o-

 

Allison had grown to hate family dinners. They only pointed out that they weren't really a family. Victoria always seemed to agree with Gerard, and he was a blood-thirsty lunatic so what did that make her mother? Dad argued for restraint and caution since Kate had put a spotlight on them, but Gerard didn't seem to care, and her mother had a hard time telling him no. Allison had heard enough of her parents’ arguing to know her mother’s deference was because she and Gerard were from the Mather clan, descendants of the Salem witch hunter, (and if there was a famous ancestor nobody sane would want, Cotton Mather was right up there with Josef Mengele and John Wayne Gacy.)

They were speculating (again) on who had informed Sheriff Stilinski of Derek’s location. Apparently, her mother had arranged for people to talk to Kate’s henchmen _while they were in jail_.

It was like they were discussing an episode of _Oz_ , but they weren’t. Those were real guards _her parents_ had bribed.

“And you believe them?” Victoria asked.

“I do,” Dad confirmed.

“So it was somebody local,” Gerard cut in. “Somebody Kate wouldn’t suspect.”

“Not a long list,” her mother said dryly.

Allison felt like all her follicles had just opened up, and she could feel their breathing on her skin. She needed to get them off this subject.

Swallowing her nerves, Allison cocked her head to the side and widened her eyes (a pose she'd picked up from Lydia). “Have you been to see Kate yet?”

Gerard gave her the same smarmy smile Mr. Harris used on them in class. “My lawyers are working on her case, never you fear.”

A bite of sawdust potatoes to prove she wasn't afraid then wide, wide eyes. “But if your lawyers are doing all the work then why do you need to be here?”

Her father choked on his food, her mother growled her name in reproof, but at least Gerard dropped the patronizing smirk.

“Can't I want to visit my family?” Gerard said.

“Never have before,” Dad muttered.

“Chris! That's very rude.” It sounded like Dad was in trouble with Victoria, but he just shrugged.

Gerard had puffed up as well. “It's not like I can just waltz into the jail and demand to see my daughter!”

Dad put down his fork and stared at his father. “That has never stopped you before. Why is it stopping you now?” Allison glanced at her mother, but her mother was quiet, watching, letting Dad do the work. Allison's eyes narrowed.

“You've been here over a week,” her father continued. “You’ve talked about my family—”

“Your lack of effectiveness,” Gerard muttered."

"—about the second beta. The school. Lots about the sheriff—”

“The _alpha_ ,” Gerard sneered.

"—and just a moment ago, you were ranting about some omega who is attacking dead people."

"The one in the ambulance—"

"Had already coded," Chris interrupted. "You read the same report I did, so you know that. However, in all your various expressions of concern, you haven't talked about Kate even once.”

“I most certainly have,” Gerard protested.

Dad shook his head. “You've talked about locating the person who reported her to the cops. You've discussed the effect her arrest will have on the Argent name. How her statement will impact the wider hunter community, but you have never once asked if she was okay. Just...” He stopped, took a breath. “She's in prison, Dad. She's tough, but one of the charges is statutory rape. Prison isn't kind to child abusers.”

Allison had to swallow bile. She known (of course she'd known) that Derek had been young when Kate had— When she'd had sex with him. Somehow it hadn't registered that Derek being under the age of consent meant Aunt Kate had raped him. But, of course, that's exactly what it meant.

Gerard shrugged it off. “I assume she's in segregation. Protective custody.”

Her father looked at her mother. After a moment of them staring at each other, her mother nodded. “You would know a detail like that, if your purpose here was to assist Kate,” she said. “So why are you really in Beacon Hills?”

The three of them sat at the dinner table, not eating their roast beef and potatoes, and waited for Gerard to explain.

It was awkward and uncomfortable (no matter how at ease her mother looked), but Allison was determined to not be the first one to break. Allison shoved another forkful of potatoes in her mouth and chewed with determination.

“There are too many things happening here.” Gerard finally caved. “The bizarre murders. Kate's arrest and the sheriff becoming the alpha! And now a Hale is back in Beacon Hills.”

“Technically, there was always a Hale here since the uncle...” Allison forced herself to stop speaking.

“He's the one who killed all those people, and yet Kate's getting blamed for it.” Gerard sneered. "It wouldn't have happened if you two had cleaned out your territory the way you should have!"

Allison peeked as her mother dabbed non-existent gravy from her lips. Always very proper, her mother.

"If only Kate had listened more closely she wouldn't be in jail.” Victoria gave Gerard her own tight, mocking smile. “She, too, had her own agenda when she arrived. I explained the strategy we were following, and I advised her to put her own concerns aside for now, but she ignored me. She should have known I don’t speak just to hear my own voice.”

Victoria’s eyes never wavered from Gerard’s. “Now she’s in jail and we’re left to clean up her mess while in a media spotlight. I will do whatever necessary to make sure that we’re not put into that situation again.” The room fell quiet—heavy, oppressive.

Allison’s mother lifted the platter of roast beef. She gave a tight smile. “More meat?”

Gerard _did_ take another slice. Allison figured it more as way of saying he wasn’t cowed by his daughter-in-law than out of actual hunger.

She watched him through the rest of the meal. He kept his head down, barely looking at any of them when he spoke. He looked suitably chastised, but for some reason Allison was convinced that that’s all it was—a _look_. Gerard hadn’t given up on anything.

-o0o-

 

 


	6. There's Always Something Tougher than You in the Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deaton talks and says nothing. Derek ends up wishing Kali didn't want to talk to him. Allison tries to avoid talking to everyone. Lydia asks the wrong questions and Gerard asks weird ones.

Derek waited for the sheriff in the parking lot, face lifted to the rising sun, leaning against his sister's car. Using one piece of his past to brace himself before confronting another.

Alan Deaton had been a part of his childhood, bound to the Hales by his role as Emissary. It hadn't been friendship—Deaton had never been invited to Thanksgiving dinner—but he'd always been _there_. Deaton had known Derek as a kid, as a teen, and it made Derek afraid.

It was illogical, weak. Stupid even. He'd already spoken to the man since he'd been back and nothing had happened, but there was a little boy inside him that remembered his mom telling him that Deaton knew all the family's secrets.

Derek didn't want anybody knowing all his secrets.

The sheriff finally pulled in. Derek kept his greeting casual.

"You know, a vet being the expert on werewolves seems..."

"Convenient?" Derek asked. He thought he'd kept his voice level, but the sheriff paused at the door and looked at him. Derek wondered what he'd just revealed.

"I was going to say ironic, but I suppose there's an element of symbiosis." Stilinski replied as they entered. "Which came first: the calling or the career?"

"Actually, they developed in tandem." Of course Deaton was waiting for them behind the counter. "Hello, Sheriff. Derek."

Derek just nodded, but Stilinski moved into a manly handshake. "Alan. Hope this isn't an inconvenience."

"Not at all," Deaton smiled. "Although I expected you three weeks ago. And with Scott." The druid-slash-vet led them through to his exam room, so they could have privacy. Derek turned to let the sheriff go first, and he noticed the sheriff's eyes were narrowed. Wariness rolled off the alpha. Scott was Stiles' best friend. Derek would bet the sheriff felt protective of him. Then Stilinski blinked and the threat disappeared.

"Had to deal with Kate Argent's arrest, and the officer-involved fatality," Stilinski said easily. "Police work didn't change, just me. So, what does a druid do, exactly?"

Derek wanted to laugh, because as far as he could tell, the answer was not much.

"We maintain the balance."

Derek managed to hide his snort.

Sheriff Stilinski didn't look amused. "What balance? The balance between good and bad? Chaos and order? Creation and entropy? That kind of balance?" Deaton looked surprised.

"My son plays video games," Stilinski explained. Deaton nodded, as if that made sense.

"Chaos and order is probably closest, but we also weigh the needs of the supernatural with the rest of the world."

"Yeah? You keep the forces of evil away?"

Deaton shifted. "Evil is such a subjective-"

"That's a 'no'," the sheriff interrupted. "Or let me ask it a different way. If you had known that Kate Argent was going to burn down the Hale house would you have stopped her?"

"Yes! Yes, of course I would have."

Derek's gut curled around on itself and he felt like whimpering. He'd never even thought to ask the question, but Deaton's answer changed something in him, lightened it. He realized that he'd always assumed the druid _had_ known of his relationship with Kate, that Deaton had known her plans, and that he'd let the fire happen as punishment for Paige.

It was such a momentous revelation that he almost missed the sheriff's next question.

"You would have physically stopped her? Gone out and faced her."

"No. Not at all. I would have alerted Talia Hale."

"The sheriff's office?" Stilinski settled his hands on his belt. It seemed accusatory.

Deaton shrugged gently. "And tell them what?"

The sheriff's shoulders shifted, as if he was trying to settle a weight. Finally, he sighed. "Yeah, OK. I still find it hard to believe in supernatural beings, and I am one. Still that doesn't really explain what you do, or why you do it." Deaton smiled as if the sheriff had said something funny. It was Deaton's patronizing "you wouldn't understand" look, and it made Derek's teeth itch. He wanted to growl at the vet on Stilinski's behalf.

Derek shook off the impulse and wondered what was going on. He'd never felt the need to growl when that look had been directed at _him._

"It's not easy to explain," Deaton said, everlastingly calm. "And it can change depending on the situation."

"Uh huh." The sheriff's agreement was dry enough for a desert. "Well, since you're not willing to answer that question, I'll ask another. Do you know all the supernatural creatures who live in Beacon Hills?"

Deaton frowned. "I doubt it. Why do you ask?"

The sheriff hesitated. Derek could see the flush of embarrassment in his face. "Derek's been, uh, teaching me to... Reach out over my territory. As an alpha, thing. Y'know?"

Deaton's eyebrows went up. "Territorial awareness? Good idea, Derek."

Derek frowned. Why did Deaton sound so surprised? "Mom used to take us with her," he growled. Deaton ignored him to ask the sheriff what he was picking up.

Stilinski shuffled, still awkward and uncomfortable acknowledging the supernatural. "The country wasn't so bad—mostly nothing, you know?" Deaton nodded. "But the city? There are supernatural people everywhere. Most are scattered, but there are a couple big groups."

Again, Deaton nodded. "The larger groups are probably beings who exist in family groups or packs."

"Yeah, I figured that," the sheriff responded. "What about the individual signatures? What creature causes them?"

"They could be omegas entering your territory to see what kind of alpha you are."

"Or creatures who prefer being solo," Derek added. "Like druids." Deaton frowned at him.

"How can I tell them apart?" the sheriff asked.

Deaton shrugged. "I doubt any of them are going to test your alpha-ness."

Stilinski waved that away. "Not me," he said. "How can I tell if any of them a threat to the people in Beacon County, or to my deputies?"

Again, the vet's eyebrows lifted in surprise. It was enough to tell Derek that Deaton didn't know Sheriff Stilinski _at all_. Not surprising, Derek supposed, since the enigmatic druid-slash-vet had probably spent a lot of energy trying _not_ to draw the notice of law enforcement. On that count, Derek could sympathize with Deaton. The fact that a whole station full of cops knew he was a werewolf made Derek very uncomfortable.

Still, having spent a fair bit of time with the man, Derek had learned that Sheriff Stilinski believed absolutely in judging the actions, not the person. If he'd been a homeless omega, Derek would be tempted to ask the alpha for refuge.

Thankfully, Deaton's surprised response interrupted that thought. He denied ill intent in any of the creatures he knew.

Unfortunately, the statement was hardly worth anything since Deaton was, apparently, unaware of 90 percent of the creatures living in Beacon Hills. It was both shocking and unsurprising that he was as unhelpful to the sheriff as he'd been to Derek and Scott.

Like a pro, Sheriff Stilinski didn't let any frustration show until they'd left the clinic. "That's the local expert?" he said with a growl. "My son could tell me more." Since Derek kinda agreed with him, he just shrugged.

"I bet Chris Argent knows more."

Derek froze, snarling. "You'd speak to a hunter? You'd trust a hunter?"

The sheriff stared back at him, eyes flicking to red, hands flexing. Derek fought not to flinch.

Finally, Stilinski took a breath. "Son," he said in a mostly-normal voice. "I'd talk to the devil himself if he had information I needed to do my job right. Trust isn't a requirement." It was a cynical statement, but the sheriff said it with such light-hearted humor that it took a moment for Derek to realize what he'd said.

"Stiles really is your son," was the only thing that occurred to Derek to say.

Luckily, the alpha wasn't offended. Instead, Stilinski laughed "He is, undoubtedly, my son." The sheriff's smile softened. "He'll be a helluva detective one day."

It was such a _parental_ thing to say, filled with rueful pride and hope. It hurt Derek to hear it because his father had said the same thing about Laura: " _She'll make a mighty fine alpha one day._ "

That had been right after she'd dragged Peter and couple of their other teenaged cousins into some scrape, before getting them right back out again. He'd been too young to go with them, but Derek remembered the yelling, and being both envious and relieved that he hadn't been invited.

" _She'll make a mighty, fine alpha one day._ "

His throat closed. Laura _had_ been a hell of an alpha, but her pack had only been one instead of the dozens she should've had. His fault.

Didn't matter that Kate Argent had targeted him. He'd fell for it, and he would never forgive himself.

As he drove back to the house, Derek was mired in memories of what had been and what should have been.

It was his only excuse for missing the signs that he had visitors until he'd actually pulled up at the house. They weren't friendly—that was easy enough to pick up. So it was either Argents or the Alpha Pack.

Either way, he was fucked.

-o0o-

 

The sheriff leaned against the wall around the corner from the front desk and took another sip of his coffee. He had another hour before he had to be out in a car, and so far, he was enjoying it.

Rita, the civilian officer who handled their front desk, was wonderful at handling unctuous or obnoxious asses. Her tone didn't descend into condescending officialdom, she never became over-sympathetic, and she mostly hid her hard-assed police training. Somehow, Rita managed a finely-tuned blend of all of those, covered over with a dash of bland unconcern.

And Sheriff Stilinski was enjoying listening to Gerard Argent sputter in angry frustration. He didn't even feel guilty.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Argent, but I cannot release those records to you, as you are not your daughter's legal representative, nor are you an officer of the Court." Argent argued a few minutes more, blustering about getting Rita fired.

She wasn't getting fired.

The Sheriff's Office been notified last week that Kate had refused, verbally and in writing, to let her father have direct access to her records. Without that permission, and lacking a warrant, Gerard Argent was not getting any records—no witness statements, no evidence reports, no nothing.

Well, he could get a copy of the speeding ticket he'd received on Saturday, Noah thought with a smirk.

"I would like to see the sheriff." It was said through gritted dentures, but still understandable.

"Sheriff Stilinski would, of course, be pleased to speak with you," Rita lied with an absolutely even voice. "However, he is unavailable right now. If you leave your contact information, I'll be sure he gets it." And she would. She'd drop the note on his keyboard, so he couldn't miss it. Then he would crumple it up and throw it in the garbage.

After a few more rounds of "Let me see the sheriff," Argent finally cracked. "Do you know who I am!" Gerard thumped the desk. The desk didn't break.

There was a moment's hesitation, and Stilinski could picture Rita's eyebrow—just one—going up in unspoken condemnation. "I see a parent whose child has been accused of a crime," Rita stated in a tone that indicated this was absolutely nothing special in a police station.

Stilinski buried his grin in his coffee. Yes, dealing with the public was a skill, the sheriff thought, one he thoroughly appreciated when someone else did it for him.

After Argent (and his two goons) stormed out, Stilinski stepped into the reception area. "Good job."

"He'll be back." She frowned. "But I don't think he's interested in Kate Argent's records. He wants to get a closer look at _you._ "

The sheriff lowered his coffee. "You think so?"

Rita nodded. "He was a lot more upset that I wouldn't page you. He's a werewolf hunter, isn't he? Like his daughter." The sheriff thought it was probably the other way around, but the logic still applied.

"I'll wear my vest home," the sheriff assured her, filling up his coffee and heading back to his desk.

"You'd better!" she called after him. "I don't want to be breaking in a new sheriff."

The sheriff's smile lasted until he entered his office.

There was something about Gerard Argent that raised the sheriff's hackles—both the ones he'd developed as a cop and his new, wolfy ones. He'd come up to Noah at the restaurant, confronting him in in front of customers and staff. He'd barged into the sheriff's office, making a memorable ass of himself in front of trained law enforcement staff. Why?

There was something in how Gerard spoke that made the sheriff think Argent's loud, fatherly concern covered two or three less socially acceptable goals, and one outright nefarious one.

It wasn't until he was in his car that it occurred to Noah that part of his antipathy to the man was because he smelled bad. Not "evil" bad, but as if there was something was wrong with his body. Sour and embedded, as if all the scrubbing in the world wouldn't make the man clean.

Considering what the man did for kicks, maybe it was wolfsbane, and Noah's werewolf was reacting to it? He was pretty sure he'd never smelled the toxic flower, but he expected it was something sharp and medicinal, which was exactly what Gerard Argent smelled like.

And now that he had that thought, Noah realized Argent's scent reminded him of his wife's last days—stuck in the hospital, dying.

No wonder he disliked the man.

-o0o-

 

Derek sniffed at the wimpy breeze filtering through the trees, trying to gain information.

He entertained the brief hope that it was the omega, squatting in the ruins of the house, that had made the forest silent, but he could smell at least two strange werewolves. One scent was female, slightly sour as if unbathed, but strong. An alpha. The second—third?—scent was something more. Different, weirdly strong and layered.

They didn't come out from wherever they were hiding, so Derek had to assume they weren't friendly. He didn't reach for his phone—it would prove him weak. Besides, the service out here was generally lousy. Instead, he rolled up the windows, turned off his sister's Camaro, made sure his expression was neutral, and got out of the car.

Another sniff confirmed the female alpha—her scent was strong, and a bit familiar. The other scent (scents?) had thinned.

He was more than halfway to the porch when the female alpha appeared in the doorway.

"Welcome home."

It was Kali of the Alpha Pack. Beautiful, deadly, she stood chin up and smirking, but if she expected him to be upset that she'd taken over the ruins of his old home, he was glad to disappoint—this place hadn't been home since his family had died in it.

He stared at her ridiculously long toenails, and tried to think of a reason for them that wasn't bat-shit crazy and slicing people's stomachs open. "Where's your—" he rethought and changed his wording. "—teammates?"

As he'd expected, the female laughed. She didn't consider the other member of the Alpha Pack to be her anything. If the ones with her had thought otherwise, they now knew better. It wasn't much, but any dissension he could cause in the Alpha Pack's ranks…

"Are you that anxious for a beat down?" she asked.

Derek shrugged. "I don't think anything I say will stop you if that's what you want to do." From the sides of the house two more alphas appeared. Twins, obviously, and that mostly explained the oddness in the second scent Derek had picked up. They were also very young—like they should be in school with McCall, not out in the woods threatening people.

Kali's toenails clicked on the wood of the porch as she paced. "If you remembered me then you'd know I always get what I want." She was snarling, or maybe it was laughing, Derek wasn't sure.

She seemed upset that he hadn't called out her name in fear, or done some other kind of big gesture acknowledging who she was and what she'd done. Maybe she needed his fear to justify what she'd done to become part of the Alpha Pack. There probably wasn't much she wouldn't do, but she couldn't kill his family so there wasn't much for him to try to protect.

"Why would I remember you?" he asked mostly to poke at her.

Predictably, she sneered. Also predictably, she leaped from the porch into a 3-point landing inches from him. Instinct demanded he jump back or fight. Derek dug his claws into his palms, and managed to do neither.

"I am Kali," she announced with all the passion of a TV preacher. Was he supposed to cower in awe?

"Derek Hale," he said instead of any of other stupid things he could say. He jerked his chin at the twins. "Who're your friends?"

Snorting, Kali rose to her full height (only a couple inches shorter than Derek). "Ignore them," she ordered.

Derek lifted his eyebrows. "That what you do?" He didn't need Kali's sneer to know that's _exactly_ what she did. So he looked at each of the twins. "Derek Hale," he said with a nod in their direction.

Before either could respond, Kali gripped Derek's chin and wrenched it so that he was facing her. "I said ignore them."

Her claws were uncomfortable and long enough to threaten his eyes. He didn't try to pull his chin from her grasp. "What do you want? It's not me—I'm not the alpha."

Kali stared at him, still sneering. "No, you're not. For the first time in a hundred and fifty years, the Hales don't rule Beacon Hills. How does that make you feel?"

It should've hurt. It should've hurt a lot. Instead, surprisingly, it made him calm. It made him free. He wasn't "the Hale of Beacon Hills." The territory wasn't his responsibility. The line was broken. There was no one left to disappoint. "I live in New York." Derek lifted his chin away. "Whatever you're looking for, I can't give it to you."

For the first time, Kali looked uncertain. It didn't last long. She reached for Derek again. This time he dodged, a graceful backwards lean and twist he'd had no intention of performing. She growled outright.

"Who's the alpha?" she demanded. "If it's not a Hale, then who won the prize?"

Derek finally smiled, a slow lift of his lips. "Two people you can ask about the showdown: Chris Argent, and the sheriff. Good luck with it."

Derek refused to say anything more, even when, as a farewell gesture, she wiggled her stupidly long fingernails around in his guts.

-o0o-

 

Derek wasn't sure how much time passed before he heard the car drive up. He lay there, breathing, and tried to push the dirt and leaves out of his body with willpower alone.

The engine shut off, the car door slammed shut, and the clearing filled with the sheriff's distinctive alpha scent. Derek automatically pulled in a big, comforting breath. When he realized what he'd done, he wheezed, which caused his damaged abdominals to explode in pain. By the time he recovered, the sheriff was crouched beside him.

"Jesus! Did they _push_ the dirt into you?" Stilinski asked, skipping all the irrelevant questions like "Who did this" and "Does it hurt".

Derek grunted confirmation. The sheriff hummed in disapproval.

"Why are you here?" Derek asked before the sheriff _could_ ask anything stupid. And it was a good question: Kali had smashed his phone.

"I sensed a disturbance in the Force."

Derek opened one eye just so he could disapprove. "You've been hanging out with Stiles again."

The sheriff laughed. "Other way 'round, actually. When he was a baby I'd throw that in the VHS, lay down on the couch, and we'd both fall asleep." Derek could picture it: Stilinski stretched out, still in his uniform, a tiny form on his chest, bundled and still... No, wait. That part didn't work.

"We still watch it together, sometimes," Stilinski said. "Usually in prep for another sequel."

Derek's turn to snort. He'd seen a couple of the original series with his friends. They'd been okay. Derek wasn't much for straight-up hero stories. He didn't believe in heroes.

"I was actually expecting an omega." It was a decent explanation. And not exactly wrong.

"Did you hurt them back?" Stilinski asked with a nod at Derek's bloody hands.

Derek could only wish he'd given Kali some trouble. "Made sure she hadn't tied my intestines in a knot or anything," he answered, totally embarrassed. "Cleaned the dirt out. As much as I could, anyway." The sheriff looked resigned. Derek didn't need him to say he'd fucked up. Except that wasn't what Stilinski said.

"I may have underestimated the threat the Alpha Pack represents. Damn." He ran a tired hand down his face. He held the position—vulnerable, concerned—for a moment. Then, with a blink and a roll of his shoulders, he was determined again. "I'm going to try something Scott showed me."

"Please don't."

The sheriff grinned, but ignored him. He put his hand under the remnants of Derek's shirt. It was cool on his skin, and then Derek felt his pain fade. There was a moment of neutrality and then bliss.

"Where'd Scott learn 'at?" Derek's voice was slurry, soft and without strength, a disturbing after-effect of the sudden disappearance of pain.

"I think Stiles read about it somewhere."

Stiles? Where the fuck did Stiles read about it?

Stilinski continued, his voice a weird mix of pride, acceptance, and fear. "I can only hope it wasn't a classified government server, somewhere." Derek didn't bother trying to comfort Stilinski about his son's research habits. He remembered Stiles making him change into one tight shirt after another in front of that dark-eyed hacker.

The sheriff grabbed Derek's arm and wrapped it around his shoulder. "Come on. Let's get you shifted before the pain comes back." Stilinski angled him onto unsteady feet. As an alpha, the sheriff could probably have picked him up and carried him the however-far it was to the car. Derek was just as glad the older man didn't.

"My car."

"I'll get someone to drive it back."

"Not Stiles," Derek growled.

"He's a good driver, and I'll make sure that he knows to be careful," the sheriff promised.

Not satisfied, but unable to directly oppose the sheriff, Derek settled into the back seat. It was familiar from all the times he'd been put there, so Derek let himself drift to the hum of the tires on the asphalt. It was weird being hurt— _physically_ hurt. Before he'd come to Beacon Hills, he'd had a couple bullies target him at school, and there'd been the typical sports injuries: sprains, pulled muscles, and bruises. Normal, human hurts that he'd shrugged off with a scowl of annoyance. Since coming here, he'd been shot with an aconite-dosed bullet, he'd been electrocuted for hours, and now an alpha had played mud pies with his innards.

"Can I go back to New York?"

Shit. He hadn't meant to say that aloud.

Fortunately, the sheriff didn't call him on his whining. "Sure," the sheriff shrugged. "You're not the suspect. You'd probably have to come back for the depositions and certainly for the Grand Jury. I'd get a lawyer to help you with those, by the way."

Derek blinked at the roof. That wasn't the response he'd expected. It wasn't a lecture on duty and consequences. It didn't demand he be strong and tough it out.

He didn't know what to do with it, how to respond, so he grunted and let his eyes drift shut. Any decision could wait until he healed.

-o0o-

 

When the sheriff arrived back at work after tucking Derek away in a safe place, it was to find a werewolf and his delinquent son sitting in his office. It was only 2 P.M.

On a school day.

The sheriff thought gentle thoughts until he was sure the doorknob was no longer in danger.

"Isn't there school today?" He was sure his tone had been mild, but Scott flinched. Stiles, of course, just widened his smile like he always did when caught doing something only marginally justifiable.

"Lunch period?" Stiles said hopefully.

It was possibly true that _one_ of them was on lunch. No prize for guessing which one was ditching. He glared at his son who widened his smile a notch more. "Whatever class this is, you're getting an A in it right?" He didn't let Stiles interrupt. "I _will_ be seeing an A on the next report card." It was an old threat, but the growl was new.

It was also, maybe, making the threat somewhat more menacing than it was meant to be. Stiles' defensive smile wobbled. "You know I will."

Stilinski huffed out a breath and took a moment to make sure his teeth were all human-shaped. "I do know that," he reassured his son. "But I'd be a bad parent if I let you get away with ditching without saying _something_."

Stiles' smile was back bigger than before. "You're a great dad. And we're here on important business."

"It's kinda important," Scott temporized.

Stiles steamrolled him. "It's 'immanent threat' level important."

He resisted the impulse to rub his temples—he'd probably need it more later. "What's up?"

"There's werewolves at school," Stiles announced.

"Aside from me," Scott added.

Stiles turned to him. "That was a given."

Scott looked back. "Was it?"

"Uh-huh." Stiles nodded emphatically.

The sheriff didn't allow himself to be distracted. "Who are these werewolves? Are they kids you know?"

Stiles shook his head as Scott answered, "They transferred in a week ago?" He looked at Stiles.

"A week ago, on Monday," Stiles confirmed.

"Are they harassing you, or threatening you in any way?"

"One of them is hitting on Lydia."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Lydia is encouraging it."

That explained Stiles going to DefCon 4, but it raised other issues. "You're sure they're werewolves?"

Scott nodded. "Absolutely. One of them joined the lacrosse team this morning, and I'm getting the same sense from him as I get around you or Derek."

The sheriff nodded, accepting Scott's judgement. He tapped a fingernail on the arm of his chair while he considered possibilities. It stayed a fingernail the whole time.

"This could sound insensitive," the sheriff warned, sitting forward. "Could your sense of them be tainted by some sort of territorial thing?"

"You mean, like..." Scott trailed off, blushing.

Stiles gave his best friend an unimpressed look before turning to the sheriff. "He doesn't feel like peeing on their pant legs, Dad! They've got this freaky twin thing going on-"

Noah sat up fast enough to cause a breeze. "Twins?"

It took a moment for the boys to unfreeze. "Yeah," Stiles confirmed.

"Identical twins," Scott elaborated.

The sheriff felt the growl in his chest.

"So how come you know about Ethan and Aiden?" Stiles asked.

Ethan and Aiden: two of the alphas, at his son's school, putting his son in danger! Putting them all in danger. Bringing some bullshit crusade into his county.

Scott pointed with his chin. "Your, um, sideburns are sprouting."

-o0o-

 

Derek had just managed to get back to the couch in the innocuous bungalow the sheriff had dropped him at when he heard noises at the door.. He tensed as adrenaline poured into his body, tightening his muscles, readying him to fight. He really shouldn't have let his guard down, he lectured himself. Not with hunters _and_ the Alpha Pack in town Then he hissed as it pulled on his barely-healed stomach.

He set aside the pain, and focused his hearing at the front door: Two heartbeats—both a little fast. Two voices... Male... Young...

All the tension left Derek in an instant, leaving him lightheaded. When the door opened he didn't bother to look. "I don't remember giving either of you a key."

McCall and the sheriff's kid froze. Derek grinned internally.

Of course, his victory didn't last long. "Oh my god, dude! Could you be any more of a creeper?"

Derek frowned. How was _he_ the creeper here? "I'm not the one breaking into someone else's house."

"Lurking." The Stilinski kid flailed. "There's definitely lurking. Happening. In the dark."

Even McCall wouldn't let him have that one, giving his friend a long-suffering look. "Dude, it's only three thirty."

Stilinski shrugged his whole body. Derek's stomach ached just watching him. "The lights are out?"

McCall rolled his eyes, so Derek didn't bother.

"Why are you here?" Which was a far more important issue as far as Derek was concerned.

"We brought your car," Scott said, putting his keys next to him on the coffee table. "And we know about the Alpha Pack."

Derek jerked upright, sending a hot wash of agony through his body. He ignored it. "He told you?" This time Stiles rolled his eyes.

"He wanted us to be careful," Scott said. "The twins are in our school."

"We are kinda concerned."

Okay. Derek could buy that.

" _Stiles_ is concerned," Scott corrected. "I'm more… wary."

Stiles turned to stare at his friend. "Dude, that's essentially the same thing."

"No, it's not." Scott frowned. "Is it?"

"Did they approach you?" Derek interrupted before they could do anymore Bill and Ted impressions.

Scott shook his head while Stiles answered. "They keep staring at Scott. One of them's joined lacrosse. And Lydia's dating the other. "

"Did _you_ approach _them_?" They were teenagers, and idiots, so it was possible.

This time Stiles shook his head while McCall answered. "I thought we should talk to you first." From that, Derek figured Stiles had wanted to "sneak" around, but Scott had won the argument about what to do. Or maybe Sheriff Stilinski had vetoed it.

Didn't matter, Derek decided, as long as they stayed away from the twins. "Don't approach them," he warned. "Don't go near them, or sniff around them."

Stiles jerked his chin at him. "Did they do that to you?"

Scott shot Stiles a baffled look. "What 'that'?"

"What do you mean 'what that'? He's hurt." Stiles shot back, waving a hand in Derek's general direction.

Derek blinked in surprise. For a hyperactive little shithead, Stiles could be surprisingly observant. Maybe it was the sheriff's genetic influence.

Melissa McCall's influence was obvious as Scott flipped from teenage spaz to budding medical professional. "Where are you hurt?" Scott asked in a voice both calm and commanding. "Never mind. I see it."

He knocked Derek's hands out of their protective curl over his stomach, and lifted his T-shirt. Derek didn't need Scott's hiss of shock to know it looked bad.

"Oh my _god_." He especially didn't need Stiles barfing on the carpet because of a weak stomach.

"Stiles! Do not throw up!" Scott commanded.

Derek made a note to thank him for that, sometime. Maybe.

"I need a clean cloth, some hot water and the first-aid kit." Stiles ran out of the room. Scott looked up at Derek. "You do have a first-aid kit, right?"

He glared at Scott. "This isn't my house, you know."

"It's the county safe house," Stiles said from the kitchen, shouting over the sound of the tap. "Of course it's got a first-aid kit." He came back into the room. He had a towel over his shoulder, a bowl of hot water in one hand, and a 2-foot square case with the familiar red cross. He put the case on the floor by Scott, and the water on the coffee table. He very carefully didn't look at Derek's torn-up abdomen. "I thought you guys had super healing? Can't keep a good wolf down and all that."

"Alpha." Derek answered. They both looked blankly unenlightened. Derek sighed—he'd already been through this with the sheriff. "Injuries made by an alpha take longer to heal."

Scott just grunted understanding, hands busy with disinfectants and other things with which Derek hadn't bothered. Stiles, however, frowned in thought.

"Would you heal as slow if you were an alpha? Or does all that alphaness cancel each other out."

It was a smart question, considering his dad had a pack of one. "Depends on the size of your pack. How healthy it is."

"So the leader of a small, healthy pack would heal as quickly as the leader of a large, dysfunctional one?"

Derek nodded. "The sooner your dad—"

"I'm not going to stitch you up, because the wound needs to be able to drain," Scott interrupted. "It doesn't smell infected, but we're going to stay and monitor you for a bit."

"We are?" Stiles asked.

"We are." Scott nodded sharp and decisive. Stiles rolled his whole body, but didn't protest. He'd already known the answer when he'd asked the question.

"You don't have to do that," Derek protested.

Scott ignored him. "You'll rest better knowing someone's keeping watch," he said to Derek. "We've got you covered."

Derek felt like he should say something dismissive because Scott fought like a startled duck, but instead his eyes slid shut and his body relaxed into bonelessness. Scott had taken his pain, just as the sheriff had done earlier.

"You know," he heard Stiles say. "If we're doing Chem homework, we should really have Lydia here to tutor us."

"We don't need to do Chem."

"Same with math," Stiles said over the beeping of a phone. "She's going to win a _Field's Medal_."

"I don't even know what that is." The bickering was without heat, and somehow, familiar.

When had being around people become comforting? Derek was asleep before he could care about the answer.

-o0o-

 

Allison looked up at the humble little bungalow and wondered where Lydia had taken her. This wasn't the Stilinski's house and it wasn't Lydia's usual hanging-out neighborhood

"I thought we were going to Stiles'."

"And this is where he is."

"This isn't his house," Allison pointed out. In case Lydia didn't actually know what the Stilinski's house looked like.

"But it's where Stiles said to come." Lydia's logic was inarguable so Allison didn't argue, but she did give the empty street a long look. Its tidy, decently maintained, totally innocuous houses didn't bother looking back. Not even a curtain twitch.

By the time she'd finished her survey Lydia was already at the door, leaving Allison to carry the three bags of snacks.

Stiles nearly fell over his feet opening the door. "You came!"

"It's called 'scoping out the opposition'," she said. "If I'm going to get the top mark on the final, I need to know where you might rival me."

Stiles beamed. "You think I can rival you?" he asked happily.

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes," she conceded. "When you can focus and aren't being a spaz." She walked by him into the house. Stiles just stared after her in ecstasy.

"Hi, Stiles," Allison said and broke the spell. She lifted the bags. "Where should I put these?"

"Allison." His face and voice were suddenly blank. "Wow, okay. This could be awkward."

Before Allison could ask him about why, Scott bounded up from the living room to say hello. "Allison?" he said with a wide smile.

She couldn't help but smile back. "I hear you need help with your studying."

Lydia's snort from the living room echoed the one coming from Stiles. "He's hardly likely to get any studying done now that you're here," Lydia remarked calmly. "Can someone tell me why Derek Hale—accused murderer and occasional crazy-person-who-attacks-us-at-school—is here?"

It was almost comic the way Scott and Stiles froze. Or at least, it would've been funny if Allison hadn't done the same thing.

Lydia didn't know.

"Umm," Scott said. "Yeah, there's a few things you need to know about the accusations against Derek."

"You're not going to tell her about werewolves," Stiles hissed.

"Of course not," Scott hissed back. "Crazy uncle."

"Revenge attack?" Stiles suggested.

Scott nodded. "That'll work."

"For about two minutes," Allison pointed out.

"I know you're all trying to come up with a suitable story," Lydia said from the living room. "You should close the door, so that we don't all freeze to death while you try to think of something believable." There was no help for it but to step into the living room and let Stiles close the door. Allison took a couple steps forward and then stopped. Derek looked... Well, he looked a lot like he'd looked chained to Kate's fence, except with a shirt and smaller teeth.

"Why are you here?" Derek asked Lydia accusingly.

Lydia ignored him. "The sheriff is involved somehow, since you're in a county safe house."

"Why do you think this is a county safe house?" Stiles asked with a squeak.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "The fact that _you're_ here? And so is he." She turned back to Derek. "There's no guard, so you're not a criminal or a witness. You're not avoiding the press, since most of them have left. So why is the sheriff letting you hide here? What kind of trouble are you in?"

"It could be Derek's house," Stiles suggested.

Lydia didn't bother rolling her eyes, and Derek's frown didn't change. "Why do you think you have any right to ask me questions?"

Lydia put her hands on her hips. "Maybe because you tried to kill us that one time?" She stopped. "Or did you?" Derek glared at all of them indiscriminately, but Lydia ignored the lava-force of his disapproval. She tapped a finger to her lips as she thought, and Allison recognized that they were in _soo_ much trouble.

Lydia turned to look at Scott. "You're the one who said it was him." It was an accusation.

"Yeah, about that," Scott said, scrubbing the back of his neck.

"He's been cleared of all charges," Stiles said, rescuing Scott from having to explain.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "If it wasn't Derek Hale who attacked us at the school, who was it?" She didn't wait for any of them to answer. "It was the uncle. The one who was killed at the police station." Allison exchanged looks with Scott and Stiles. It was easy to forget how smart Lydia was, since she was careful to hide it all behind the prom queen.

"How is this any of your business?" Derek asked again.

"Because I like to know when my life might be threatened and by who," Lydia snapped.

"I think you should go," Derek tried again. "I think you should _all_ go."

"Don't be rude," Lydia said, flipping her hair. "It's not like it's your house. Plus, since you're not a killer, we've got nothing to worry about."

"Maybe he's right," Allison certainly felt no need to hang out around the man. What if he recognized her smell, or something?

Scott took her hands in his. "You've made it this far. You might as well keep going."

"Yeah," Stiles said. "Scott and I have already apologized."

"No, you haven't," Derek growled.

"We haven't?" Scott frowned, and his eyes flicked as if reviewing his memories.

"I don't have to apologize," Lydia pointed out. "I'm not the one who accused him of anything."

"I don't want your apologies," Derek went on. "What I want is quiet."

"I don't mind apologizing," Stiles chirped happily. "Derek I'm sorry I misinterpreted your broody and stalkery behavior as being murdery and evil." Predictably, Scott's eyes widened in horror, Derek's glare at Stiles was extra ferocious, and Lydia rolled her eyes at all of them.

However, surprisingly, Allison couldn't hold in a snort of laughter. Derek _had_ been broody and stalkery—always _there_ , in the periphery, dressed in black and staring.

There was a moment of complete stillness when everyone looked at her. She covered her mouth and swallowed down her laughter, knowing it was semi-hysterical for while "broody and stalkery" described Derek pretty well, "murdery and evil" was exactly what her aunt had been. Would Derek take out his desire for revenge on her?

"C'mon," Scott nudged her. "It'll be okay. And Derek really shouldn't be alone right now."

"I do not need babysitting!"

With a snort, Stiles moved to the small kitchen table. It was a small house (the living room and dining room were practically one room) so it didn't take long. "Dude, you can't even get off the couch by yourself." Of course, Derek immediately tried to pull himself up from his prone position.

Lydia nearly backed up a step before she stopped herself. She didn't reach out to him, didn't put a hand on his shoulder, or anything to show how unafraid she was. She just cocked a hip and twirled a curl. "Well, you're not a killer, but you are a stereotypical example of hyper-masculine stupidity. Good to know." He glared. She tilted her head and treated him just like she did any non-worthy boy from school—by looking at her nails instead of him.

Allison wondered what demon Lydia was trying to slay by being so determined to stay in the same house as Derek Hale, but she was absolutely sure that's exactly what her friend was doing.

"So are you two ever going to leave the doorway, or are you planning some PDA?" Lydia asked, voice just a little too unconcerned.

Beside her, Scott blushed. He took the bags and her hand, and pulled her the final two steps from the doorway to the living room. Derek shifted his glare from Lydia to Scott then to her. His nostrils flared as if he was scenting the air. Allison nearly hunched over with fear. ( _Had_ he caught her scent in the basement? Surely not. There had been so many (unpleasant) smells in that place?)

"This is my girlfriend," Scott said, bottom jaw jutting out stubbornly.

"I'm Allison—"

"I know who you are."

He recognized her! It made her feel ill. Was he going to tell everyone that she'd been there, in that cave, while Kate... Tortured him.

Allison started babbling. "I'm so sorry—so, so sorry. What my aunt did was wrong, and I don't agree with her at all—about any of it—and I hope that, if I'd known what she was doing—which I didn't, of course. But, I hope that I'd be the kind of person who would call for help, even against my own family, because it would be the right thing to do." She was just spewing guilt everywhere, and Derek Hale was just looking at her and not reacting, and she really needed to shut up.

Luckily, Scott was there. "Hey, hey," he soothed, rubbing her arms lightly. "Nobody thinks you were working with your aunt." Behind him, Derek huffed mockingly. "Nobody who knows you thinks that," Scott corrected.

"Scott's right in this instance," Lydia said with a little grimace of distaste. (Probably from having to say Scott was correct about anything.) "Allison is the gentlest person I know. Certainly gentler than you," she said to Derek.

"He was cleared of all charges," Stiles repeated from the kitchen.

"And that makes this situation less weird, how?" Lydia asked skeptically. "Because there is a distinct mortal enemy's vibe coming from the two of them. Also, witness contamination"

Derek was now staring at Lydia. It meant Allison could breathe a little.

She turned to Scott. "Maybe I should just go."

-o0o-

 

Derek knew that Allison wasn't her aunt, but she reminded him of Kate Argent. It was in her scent. All the Argents smelled of it—they reeked of death.

However, Allison was just a kid, and her babbling apology had reminded him of the fact.

Once he'd been able to sense beyond Argent-enemy, he'd nearly been overwhelmed by the girl's guilt and grief, her embarrassment and fear, and _that_ smell had triggered memories of his last hours in the old Hale holding room, where young wolves with shaky control could go to keep the family safe. It was the room Kate used to taunt and torture him. There were always some of her goons around, and they'd smelled of fear (of him and Kate both) or curiosity (how much voltage to make his skin burn) or nothing (just doing his job, reattaching the leads to Derek's skin like he was hooking up a car battery). Kate, of course, had reeked of triumph and sick enjoyment.

But there had been that one time, right before the sheriff had rescued him. He'd smelled nearly the same mix of scents as he was getting now. Had Allison been in the basement with Kate? There'd been an odd spike in her heartbeat when Scott and her friend assured her that of course, she hadn't known, and of course, she would have told someone.

Her physical response let him know two things: Allison Argent had definitely been in that basement, and not all of her guilt was because of him.

erek's curiosity had him growling that they might as well stay, as long as he got the popcorn snacks. "And when your family's lawyers yell at you for consorting with the enemy, don't expect any sympathy from me."

Stiles laughed. "Well, she wouldn't, dude. That's what boyfriends are for." They all laughed.

Derek just sneered and grabbed the remote. He may have to put up with their chatter, but he'd be damned if he got stuck with their taste in television.

"Well, that's great and all, but it still doesn't explain why he's here and not in a hospital," the red-headed one said. Derek closed his eyes. Did the girl not know when to _drop it_?

McCall and Stiles didn't help deflect the question. Derek could practically smell the big, 'oh shit' looks they gave each other.

"I don't need a hospital," he ground out.

"Uh-huh," she said in complete disagreement. "Then why did Sheriff Stilinski send Bert and Ernie over to look after you?"

"He didn't send us," Stiles protested. "Well, I suppose he kinda did."

"Uh, which one of us is Bert?" McCall asked, finger raised as if _that_ question was the important one.

The red-head (Lydia his memory finally supplied) raised her eyebrows to indicate they were both idiots. "I'm sure he didn't announce this over normal dispatch channels, Stiles—which I'm sure you listen in on—because that would defeat the purpose of a safe house."

"Wait, you listen to police radio?" Allison asked. "Aren't those encrypted? To stop reporters and ambulance chasers?" There was something more than shock in her voice—there was fear.

Stiles wiggled in place of a shrug. "Beacon Hills doesn't use signal encryption," he explained. "It's a trunked radio control, like chat systems for online games? There's the larger chat room for all of the county, and a room each for the police and the hospitals and the fire department. And there's private chat for when it's just two people. It's a really cool system." Everybody stared at him. "What?"

"Please tell me you didn't steal one of your father's radios," Lydia asked, and Allison's stance tightened

"No, no! _God_ , no."

Allison slumped in relief.

"All you need is a clone of the control program and the trunk ID keys."

Lydia groaned. "Why would you _do_ that?"

Stiles blinked in surprise. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Everyone knows" McCall said.

"Well, they suspect," Stiles corrected.

"Oh," Allison breathed. "That explains it."

"What do you mean 'that explains it'?" Stilinski asked. "What's explained?"

"It's nothing," Allison said too quickly. Her heartbeat shooting up.

"No, it's not," Derek said. "It's definitely something. Probably to do with your crazy family." The red-head scowled at him. Derek just lifted a brow back and ate his popcorn.

"Oh my god! They think I told!" Stiles jumped up, arms flailing. "Your family! They think I'm Dad's confidential informant." The kid started pacing, dragging all eyes to him. "What are they going to do? Vengeance?" He froze, eyes narrowing. "Maybe, but nothing direct."

This time it was Lydia who rolled her eyes. "Stiles. Do you think this is some kind of Shakespeare play? People don't really go around vowing vengeance." She lifted her arm and declaimed, _'As for the brat of this accursed duke, Whose father slew my father, he shall die!_ " Lydia paused, but no one laughed. She huffed. "I severely doubt that Mr. Argent will come gunning for you because you turned in his psychotic sister. Sorry, Allison."

Allison, though pale and tragic-looking, nodded. "No. No, that's fair."

"But I didn't turn in her aunt," Stiles wailed. "I didn't know anything about there being a call until he asked Scott to come drive Allison home. He let me think it was some kind of meth lab in the woods thing—"

Allison's heart rate jumped back up, and McCall made frantic 'stop, stop' hand signals at his best friend, and Derek knew, absolutely, irrevocably, who had told the sheriff where to find him that night. "I knew your scent was familiar," he said at the same time Lydia announced, "You turned in your aunt."

Allison tried to deny it. She said 'no, no. It wasn't me' and waved her hands as if that would magically erase the last two minutes, but everything about her screamed the truth.

"Oh, wow," Stiles said after her initial, useless, protests stopped. "That is fucked up." Allison's face crumpled, and McCall slapped his friend on the arm in retaliation.

Allison cried, huge gulping sobs even as McCall pulled her in. Lydia shifted to protect her friend's back, giving Stiles a death look. Stiles stammered out a correction. "No. I mean, it was awesome and brave, but wow. Not an easy thing to do."

Derek didn't say anything. Mostly because he didn't know what to say. 'Thanks for having a conscience?' 'Thanks for treating me like a human being?' 'Thanks for not being like the rest of your psycho family?' There was also a part of him that wondered if she was some kind of trap. After all, Kate had seemed like a decent person when he met her eight years ago, different from the rest of her Argent family.

It was safer to think it was a trap.

Scott could coo and be empathetic. Stiles could look on with dimly-concealed worry, and Lydia could continue to be oblivious to the truth, but Derek would do what he did best: watch and wait for when Allison brought out the knives and stabbed Scott between the ribs.

-o0o-

 

There was no studying after that. Instead, once she was presentable again, Lydia drove her home. Her friend didn't play the music loud the way she usually did. Instead, she turned it up only enough to fill the silence. Allison smoothed her hair, examined her nails, picked loose threads from her jacket…

"Have humans evolved at all?" she asked out loud. "I don't mean technologically. I mean, obviously computers are better than clay tablets, but our first instinct is to fear what we don't understand."

Lydia hummed low and flat as she thought. "We haven't evolved as much as we'd like to think we have," she finally responded. "But society _has_ gotten better. Two hundred years ago, as women, we'd already be married and working on our third kid."

"That still happens."

"But it's not standard anymore," Lydia argued. "Even if a few fringe religions still believe in it, there are laws that try to protect kids from being forced into marriage. And yes, I know it's still quite common in certain areas, but there is more and more push back against it. And not just from western nations, but from people within the countries where it's prevalent."

Allison nodded. She'd seen the ad campaigns. She'd signed the petitions.

"Why'd you ask, anyway?"

Allison looked out the window. They were in the newer subdivisions now—bigger houses, wider streets, smaller trees. "It just seems like we still want to kill whatever we consider "other", that's all."

Lydia glanced at her from the corner of her eye. It was a considering look. "Is this because your aunt believes in werewolves?" Allison jumped.

Again, she'd forgotten how smart Lydia could be. How she could and did understand far more than she let on. On the other hand, this could be an opening. "If–" Allison started. "What if... I mean, Kate says werewolves are real. What if she could produce proof?"

"Proof… " Lydia asked skeptically.

"Just say she could," Allison said. "Do you think people would still consider what she did to be torture? Or would they think that it was okay, because she was just protecting humans?"

Both of Lydia's eyebrows were nearly at her hairline. "Okay, first. Assuming she _could_ produce a werewolf in court, it's not a testable hypothesis, because we've built up these negative myths around werewolves, about their aggressiveness and lack of control that would automatically bias people against them. Second, I wouldn't be so worried about people wanting to kill it as I would governments and research labs wanting to study it. Super-strength? Super-healing? The military and medical applications of those two alone guarantees that the poor slob would leave the courtroom in the back of an armored van. Third…" Lydia paused. "Third: If werewolves _were_ real, then they've been living among us vanilla humans for millennia—since we crawled out of the caves, most likely. Obviously, they'd have to have learned control or we'd've already hunted them to extinction like we have the European bear.

"So you're saying…" What _was_ Lydia saying?

Lydia sighed. "I'm saying, even if she could prove Derek was a werewolf, she also killed all those other people. She doesn't have the excuse that they weren't human, and that's what'll get her convicted."

Lydia waited at the curb until Allison opened the door. With a final wave, Allison walked into her house. As soon as the door started to swing shut, she held her breath, listening for the other people occupying her home.

It was quiet.

She let out a breath she hadn't even realized she was holding. It was only a couple steps from the door to the stairs. Then she could stay in her room, avoiding everyone, at least until supper. Allison took that first step.

And her grandfather stepped out of the unlit front room. "Allison."

She barely managed to control her voice. Her body got away from her and she gave a little jump backwards, hitting the door as it closed and giving it an extra 'bang'. Her hand came up to her racing heart.

He seemed just as startled by her reaction, dropping something he'd been holding. A book, Allison noted, leather-bound and well used.

She gave herself a mental shake, and bent down to pick it up.

"Thank you," he said as she passed it over. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost this."

"No problem," she murmured. It took him a couple tries to push the book into his pocket.

"So you were out tonight. With friends." It wasn't a question, but he looked at her, waiting.

"Um, yeah. Studying." He was standing between her and the stairs.

"It's nice to have friends."

What was she supposed to say to something so… Hallmark greeting card? "Um, yeah. It can be hard to find any. Because we move so often."

He grunted. Perhaps in agreement. Perhaps it was just a noise.

Allison stepped to the right, edging her way around him. Gerard shifted, not to block her (as she'd first thought) but just to pull something out of his pocket. One of those daily pill containers, she realized even as he popped the top and poured them into his hand. He threw the lot into his mouth and dry swallowed them.

He saw her looking and sighed. "When I was your age I didn't even take vitamins. Now I'm choking down a cocktail of pills three times a day. But I do what my doctor tells me because I trust him." He sounded resigned, but also resentful. He didn't wait for her to say anything, which was good, because Allison hadn't a clue.

"Trust is a commodity our family holds very high," Gerard continued, staring at her. "My daughter was doing what she thought was right. Her intentions may have been a bit misguided—"

"Misguided?" Allison shook herself, unsure how trust had led to Kate. Unless he suspected she might have let something slip to one of her friends? She frowned at her grandfather. "That's not what the prosecutor's calling it."

"I like that," he chuckled, putting away his pill container. "You remind me of her. She challenged me too."

Allison crossed her arms in front of her, wishing she'd invited Lydia in (or gone home with her). "Is that what you want me to do? Challenge you?"

He was still smiling. It was kind of creepy. "I want you to trust me. You're going to find yourself put in the position where you question the trust of people close to you—even your closest friends. And when that happens, you have to know the trust you never question is family. Can I trust you, Allison?"

Was he serious? Allison stared at him, a little bit stunned and a lot amazed that he was asking the question.

"Well?" he barked and she jumped.

She took a breath. "I don't know you," she finally said. "Family or not, I don't trust people I don't know." She thought he'd be angry with her, try to convince her that blood trumps all or some nonsense like that, but he just laughed.

It wasn't a great laugh, more like a patronizing "aren't you precious?" laugh not unlike his comment about challenging him. He didn't like to be challenged, Allison knew from watching him at dinner. Instead, he'd tuck "the insult" away to be paid back later. He was, she realized, a very dangerous man.

Allison gave him a smile as fake as his, and hopped around him to the stairs. When she got in her room, she closed and locked the door behind her.

Then she looked for hidden cameras.

-o0o-


	7. Why Have Enemies If You Can't Be Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris’ meeting with Sheriff Stilinski, somehow leads to an abandoned still in the Preserve. Its unknown history might have a big impact on everyone’s future.

Chris walked into the Starbucks's not knowing what to expect. The call from Sheriff Stilinski had been unexpected, and because it was unexpected, it had made Victoria wary. Gerard, of course, had tried to get him to move the meeting to some place private, some place they could ambush Stilinski and "put him down". Thankfully, Victoria had kyboshed that suggestion.

When Chris had suggested this Starbucks, Sheriff Stilinski had agreed readily, but they only had the sheriff's word that this was an unofficial meeting and completely off the record. Victoria had gone into redundancy planning—back-ups on the roofs of neighboring buildings, sweeping the location for bugs, doing everything she could think of to make sure it was a trap he would get out of alive.

Stilinski picked the time, which just happened to be during the morning rush so the place was packed. It would be very hard to get a useful recording with all the clacking, banging, and obnoxiously hip music being played just a shade too loud.

Chris looked around the room for the familiar uniform but didn't see it. He checked his watch, confirming that he was fifteen minutes early, as planned. He hadn't really thought he would beat the sheriff here, but that's what it looked like.

His phone buzzed, once, twice, then once again. Victoria's signal that the surroundings were clear of Stilinski's deputies. Chris's shoulders dropped with a release of tension he hadn't even realized he was carrying. The meeting wasn't a trap. The knowledge didn't make him lose all caution, however, and he quickly moved to grab a table at the back.

As soon as he moved past the line-up, Chris saw the sheriff sitting at the table he'd had in mind. Stilinski was in jeans and a T-shirt, and looked nothing like he did when in uniform, which was why Chris hadn't recognized him. In fact, the way he took a bite of his breakfast sandwich, closing his eyes in appreciation, made him look more like an aging surfer dude with the munchies than the head of a police department.

Chris didn't know what it meant that Stilinski was out of uniform, but he was sure it meant something.

He went over to meet with the man. "Sheriff," Chris said cautiously.

"Call me Noah," the sheriff said. "Like I said, this is unofficial."

Chris acknowledged the correction without actually believing it. "You know it's not a good idea for us to meet considering Kate," Chris pointed out even as he took a seat to the side of the sheriff, rather than across. It wasn't as good as being able to see the whole room, but it was still better than having his back to the crowd.

"And, like I said on the phone, this has nothing to do with Kate's arrest or the Hales." Stilinski gave a little frown. "It's not got anything _directly_ to do with the Hales. I don't think."

Chris raised his eyebrows. As far as he knew, he and the sheriff had nothing in common _but_ Kate's trial and the Hales.

"Derek Hale found something on one of the properties his family owned," the sheriff said.

"Something?" Chris asked, voice neutral.

"A swirl made by a clawed hand, cut into the side of an old distillery next to the Preserve," Stilinski said. "It concerned him enough that he called me out to look at it.

"A swirl?" Chris asked. "An S, a circle, or something else?"

"An unfinished circle, cut with three claws."

"Declaration of revenge," Chris stated.

Stilinski nodded, posture easy and open. "That's what Derek said."

At the mention of the last Hale, Chris tensed. "I didn't make it." His voice was soft but firm, even as his hand drifted to his new silver-inlaid knife. Public place or not, he _would_ defend himself.

Stilinski nodded again, still unconcerned. "Unless you have claws I know nothing about, you're in the clear. No," he went on. "Derek suggested a different suspect, and certain other events indicate he might be correct. Apparently, there's a group of alphas hanging around—"

"The Alpha Pack is _here_?" Chris's adrenaline spiked. The Alpha Pack! If half what he'd heard about them was true, Beacon Hills was in a lot of trouble. His heart started jumping. He barely resisted turning to search the customers in line.

"They're not in this Starbucks," the sheriff said dryly. "But you know, a pack made up only of alphas seems like some urban legend level of bullshit. I mean, is there an alpha of the alpha pack? And are they called the Alpha's Alpha, because that's an opening for gold medal level mockery. I mean, 'Alpha's Alpha?' Alfalfa."

He smiled, inviting Chris to share his amusement, and Chris lifted his lips briefly in acknowledgement. But he was more concerned with looking for any signs that the sheriff was losing control. After all, it was common knowledge that new Alphas had only shaky control over their shift, and with other Alphas nearby he had to be feeling the pressure.

"Well, whatever," Stilinski took another drink of his coffee, so calm it was unsettling. "From what I've been told, they wouldn't be able to make it this far into town without being noticed."

"From what you've been told?" Chris pounced. If Stilinski had a source of information other than Derek Hale or Alan Deaton, Victoria would want to know about it.

"Essentially, what Derek knows about them which isn't a lot." The sheriff sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know who they are, where they come from, what their capabilities are, or how to stop them if they break the law."

Chris gave a short laugh. " _If_ they break the law."

"If they don't break the law, then they're just citizens passing through."

It was said calmly with no hint of sarcasm or defensiveness, but it made Chris stare at the man. Did Stilinski not understand how the presence of the Alpha Pack was a direct challenge to his authority as the Alpha of Beacon Hills? "They're here to take you down," he pointed out.

Stilinski shook his head. "They're here for revenge, apparently, and I know I'm not their target because I've never met or even heard of any of them before." He stabbed at Chris with his coffee cup. "You, however, know something."

"I've never tangled with the Alpha Pack."

"Never thought you had, but I'm betting you know people who have."

Chris stayed silent. The sheriff sighed and put down his coffee. "I know what a hunter is, Chris," he said. "And I imagine you all think you're White Hats—saving humans from evil, yadda yadda. I'm guessing that means you all share information, maybe even have a website with a forum where you can post questions and get answers."

Chris managed to keep his mouth shut while the sheriff talked. What he was describing… It made sense that it would exist, but it didn't. Hunters guarded their knowledge, usually earned through blood. They kept it within their clan, and only doled it out through the exchange of future favors. There were some families he knew the exchange would be equal, but there were others he wouldn't ask for used gum off the street.

Not that he was going to correct Stilinski's assumptions.

"Is that why I'm here? To give you answers?"

"Like I said before, nobody can tell me anything about them. Who's in the pack or what's the size of it? Are they a threat to civilians, or do they try to keep the muggles out of it?"

It was the first sign that the sheriff considered himself above the species he was no longer a part of. Chris' eyes narrowed. "Muggles?"

Stilinski snorted. "What? You never watched the Harry Potter movies?" He sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "I had to watch all of them. Then endless debates about motivations and plot gaps and how the movies were different from the books." His wry smile asked for sympathy, but Chris could only blink.

"Anyway," the sheriff continued, after a moment. "It's hard to prepare a response plan when you have no information about what you might be responding _to_."

Information. The sheriff only wanted information about a pack that threatened not only him, but some unknown target. Or was it unknown?

"Are they going after Derek Hale?" Chris asked. The sheriff lifted his brows asking for clarification. "Rumor is that the Alpha Pack's leader, Deucalion, was injured because of Talia Hale, something she did or didn't do. The details aren't clear. I just know it happened here in Beacon Hills."

"Huh." The sheriff's gaze was distant as he slotted the information into whatever he already knew. Then he shook his head. "It's not Derek. They had a chance to kill him, but didn't."

"Injured though, right?" Chris guessed.

"Is there a reason you're asking that?" Stilinski gave him a flat look. For a moment, Chris was sure the sheriff's eyes flashed red, but no. They were an unchanged pale blue. Either the man had mastered his wolf to an uncanny degree or Derek Hale wasn't one of his betas. Since he'd only been a werewolf for three weeks, Chris was going with the second option.

It was odd, though. Alphas were always expanding their packs. It was a primal instinct for them—grow their pack – gain in power. The best only changed the willing. The worst... Well, that's why there were Hunters. If Derek was injured, it was the perfect time for Stilinski to recruit the born wolf. And there was no reason for Derek to turn down the offer. His injuries would heal better with an acknowledged Alpha and pack.

However, if the sheriff _had_ recruited Derek, he was very calm discussing his possible injuries. His protective instincts should've had him growling at Chris for even mentioning it. Chris put aside the topics of Derek's injury and his possible status within the sheriff's pack to discuss with Victoria later. It was irrelevant to today's meeting.

For now, the Alpha Pack was the concern. They weren't considered a serious threat to humans—they would sometimes go after the family members of packs they'd targeted, and they'd killed the occasional hunter that had gone after them, but most of their violence was directed at other werewolves. Even so, the sheriff was right to prepare a defense plan. When he got home, he and Victoria would be doing the same. Maybe hunting the Alpha Pack would keep Gerard away from them. That would be nice.

"Everything I've heard about the Alpha Pack says they're a threat," Chris answered. "They seem to target a pack and then either attack the pack's Betas to draw out the Alpha, or they destroy the places the pack feels safe—homes, bolt holes, whatever—but they never 'just pass through'."

The sheriff nodded, accepting the statement. "Do they ever target civilians?"

"The family of pack members, yeah," Chris said. "But they don't bite humans to turn them. Some kind of pure blood vs muggle prejudice." He added a wry smile. He, too, had been subjected to endless hours of Harry Potter.

"So they're not some kind of international tribunal that's going to judge whether I'm worthy to be an alpha or not?"

There was a wistful tone to the sheriff's question. It made Chris laugh aloud. "Definitely not," he said, still chuckling.

"Too bad. I always wanted to be The Chosen One."

A cheerful, young Latino in Starbucks gear came to their table to take their garbage and to drop off fresh cups of brewed coffee. " _Gracias_ , Julio," the sheriff said with a smile. " _Nada_ , Sheriff," the employee answered with a smile of his own.

Chris looked down at the coffee then up at the sheriff. Chris knew that both Victoria and Gerard wanted Stilinski out of office, but finding fodder was proving difficult. "I thought free coffee was considered a gratuity?"

"Not if it's the company's refill policy, which it is," the sheriff responded easily. "My staff presented me with the printout from Starbucks' website when they first opened here. I have it bookmarked on my computer, just in case someone complains."

"Cops and coffee," Chris smiled in gentle mockery, hoping to elicit _something_.

"Coffee and just about everybody in America," Stilinski corrected. "But I will give him a tip for bringing it to our table. That was nice of him."

"Yeah, it was. Why'd he do that?" Chris took a sip of the coffee, keeping his eyes down and hidden.

"His mother's fiancé was turning into something more than a regular asshole to him and his sister, but the mother wouldn't listen. I got it proven in court and the wedding was called off," the sheriff answered easily. "Anyway, back to the Alpha Pack," he said. "I know it has at least four members. Does that match with what you know?"

"Last report I had said six," Chris said. "That was... Eight months ago?"

"Damn," Stilinski muttered. He brought out a notebook. "I have one female: light brown skin, dark brown hair, brown eyes, five eight to five ten in height, early 30s, known as Kali. No visible tattoos goes barefoot and has extremely long toenails." He waved that away. "That's easy to change. Next. Two males, twins. White skin, light brown hair, brown eyes, five ten to six feet in height, late teens to early 20s, names unknown. And then Deucalion—supposedly the leader. Male, white skin, blond hair; wears sunglasses, carries a white cane, so blind. British accent,average height, age unknown, but estimated at 30s to 40s."

Chris blinked. That was more description than his fellow hunters had ever shared. "Why are you telling me this?"

The sheriff frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you sharing information?" Chris made an impatient gesture. "Like we're on the same side."

Stilinski sat back in his chair. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but hunters _are_ in the business of protecting civilians, correct?"

Chris's first instinct was to say that they hunted werewolves and witches and other non-human things, but then he remembered that this was the _sheriff_ he was talking to. The Alpha werewolf sheriff. "You're not wrong."

The sheriff's eyes narrowed as if he sensed the side-step. "Huh." The smile he gave Chris was a lot less open than the ones he'd given before. "Derek said talking to you would be pointless. I'm sorry that he was right." He shut his notebook, and Chris realized that the sheriff was going to leave.

He also realized that he didn't want him to.

Chris put out his hand, holding the sheriff in place. "I didn't say I _wouldn't_ share information with you, just... This this isn't how things are done between—" He waved a hand between them. "Give me a moment to adjust, alright?"

The sheriff settled back into his seat. "Mind blown, huh?"

Chris frowned. "What?"

"It's something my son says when a new fact changes his worldview," the sheriff explained. "He's usually talking about something obscure in fandom, but it works for real life as well."

"I've met Stiles," Chris reminded the sheriff.

Stilinski's smile broadened. "There you go," he shrugged. "So are you willing to tell me what you know about the so-called Alpha Pack?"

"It's not much," Chris warned. "The Alpha Pack is real, but don't ask me how it works. There's a saying I've heard about the leader, Deucalion, that seems apocryphal."

Sheriff Stilinski raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

Chris cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed. "It's said that he's not always blind."

"Mythical crap," the sheriff snorted in disgust.

Despite himself, Chris smiled. "Maybe. Nobody knows. We have some ideas though."

It wasn't how Chris had planned to spend his morning, but he actually felt pretty good by the end of it. The exchange of useful information (rather than the posturing he got from other hunters) energized him, made him remember why the Argents had a Code.

He couldn't relax completely, of course. Both Victoria and Gerard would expect him to gather as much information about Stilinski as he could, but he gave almost as much information as he received. The sheriff asked some pointed questions (and gave him more than a couple disappointed looks that made Chris feel like a naughty teenager).

At the end, when they shook hands like gentlemen, he also felt that, if this level of tenaciousness was what Sheriff Stilinski was like on the job, Victoria and his father were going to have a very hard time getting him out.

-o0o-

Chris was barely in the SUV before his father demanded to know what he'd learned about the sheriff.

"The Alpha Pack is in town," Chris said instead. Gerard might not care, but Victoria would be interested. When Gerard sputtered out a protest, she waved her father-in-law to silence.

"How does Sheriff Stilinski know that?" She'd turned to face Chris in the back seat, so he held out her coffee. She gave him a small smile and accepted it. Chris held out the tray to his father in the driver seat. Gerard frowned disapprovingly, but he still took a cup.

"Kali was spotted," Chris said, tucking the paper tray into the trash bag they always kept in the back. He had to brace himself as his father pulled out of their parking spot with a jerk of acceleration. Behind, them a second black SUV pulled out much more smoothly.

"She confronted him?" Victoria asked.

Chris shook his head. "I think she beat up Derek, and he described her to the sheriff. Right down to her toenails." Victoria hummed acceptance of the explanation. The toenails were distinctive, and not something people thought to lie about. Tattoos, yes. Uncut toenail, not so much.

"It would explain why he hasn't been at his apartment the last couple days," Gerard muttered. He'd placed his coffee in the cup holder, untouched. Typical.

Chris deliberately slurped his own coffee, but he couldn't enjoy it fully because this little confab was going to be nearly as tense as the one he'd had with Stilinski.

"The sheriff said he could confirm Kali and two others," Chris continued. "Twins, in their early 20s or so. They must be new to the Pack."

"Are they planning on recruiting the sheriff?" Victoria asked.

"That would solve the monster problem in Beacon Hills." Again, Gerard muttered his comment just loud enough that it was ignorable.

Victoria's eyelid twitched, but she did, indeed ignore him. "They usually go after werewolves with some unusual quality. Something that makes them unique."

"Yeah, there was that Beta with magical abilities in Idaho, I think," Chris frowned, trying to remember the details. "Didn't the Alpha turn them down, or something? And they killed him for it?" Both Victoria and Gerard mumbled something that could be agreement. None of them had been involved in the case, so they were all relying on rumors and gossip.

They really ought to have a website like the one the sheriff described…

"I don't think they're here to recruit the sheriff," he said.

"Not unique enough?" Victoria asked, one eyebrow raised. She was beautiful. Sleek and deadly, just like his favorite gun.

"The symbol for revenge was cut into a shack on Hale property that Talia Hale used to use for negotiations. You remember it, don't you, Dad?"

Gerard started, pulled from whatever plots he'd been contemplating. "Why would I?"

"Because you were at the last series of truce negotiations Talia Hale ever hosted?"

"That was ten years ago!" Gerard protested.

"Eight," Victoria clarified.

"Still quite a while," Gerard said. "What makes you think I remember some smelly, old still?"

Chris paused. His eyes narrowed. "I didn't say it was a still."

Why was his father denying he remembered the building? Or the talks. The talks had turned into a bloodbath, Chris remembered. It had started with one beta killing hunters and being executed in turn. Then Deucalion had ambushed Gerard and killed a couple of his men. It had ended with a lot of werewolves dead—a couple packs, in fact.

He'd always assumed the Alphas had turned their packs against each other, using the negotiations to grab territory or power. Now he wondered if there was some other motive behind the bloodshed. He also wondered if his father knew more about the conflict than he'd ever told Chris.

"We need to confirm what Stilinski said," he suggested firmly. "Since you obviously remember where the site was, you can drive us there."

He stared at his father half expecting more bullshit lies about not remembering where it was, but Gerard just huffed and turned around to go back to the state highway. Chris waited an extra moment before taking a sip of his coffee in triumph.

"Did the sheriff mention anything else?" Victoria asked. She'd already finished her coffee, drinking it with the same brisk efficiency she did everything. She handed Chris her cup, and he put it in the trash carefully. It gave him a moment to weigh what he wanted to reveal, both in front of his father, but also—weirdly—in front of his wife.

"When he said this was a meeting to exchange information, he meant exactly that," Chris finally said. "He told me about the Alpha Pack–"

"How's he handling having other Alphas in his territory?" Gerard interrupted. "Does he know enough not to, er, fang out in front of the civilians."

"Actually," Chris said slowly. "He handled it really well in front of me. Like, phenomenally well. Said as long as they don't break any laws, he didn't have any problem with them being on his turf."

Gerard snorted out a laugh and Victoria gave him a skeptical look. Chris shrugged. "I think he believes it."

"Well, we'll see how well his 'phenomenal control' holds up when Deucalion confronts him," Gerard sneered.

Again, Chris just shrugged. It wasn't as if he _disagreed_ with his father after all. "I'm just saying, considering it's only been a couple weeks since he was turned _and_ became an Alpha, he seems to be in control of his instincts. We may be underestimating him."

"Nonsense!" his father spat. "Whatever control he has when around humans, he'll lose it completely when faced with another Alpha. They'll challenge and he'll be forced to reveal his true nature. He won't be able to help it."

"He'll lose a fight with any of them—they are younger, stronger, more familiar with their abilities," Victoria cut in. "That would leave a member of the Alpha Pack in Beacon Hills. I'm not comfortable with that."

"Are you saying we should help him?" Gerard's question demanded a negative response.

Victoria (Chris was proud to note) didn't give him one. "At the moment, the Alpha Pack is the more serious threat. Their motives are mostly unknown, there are more of them, and they're mobile," she pointed out. "Sheriff Stilinski, on the other hand, is rooted here. Between his son and his job, it would take an apocalypse for him to leave Beacon Hills."

"And he doesn't really have a pack," Chris tossed in. "From things he said, Derek hasn't accepted him as his Alpha."

Victoria hummed agreement. "So the second beta, whoever he is, would be of no help against the Alpha Pack. We know he's a bitten wolf, and only a couple months old."

"In hiding," Chris added. "Rejecting the change emotionally, if not physically."

"The Alpha Pack might force the boy out in the open," Victoria mused.

"We should focus on the sheriff," Gerard argued. "Before he convinces others to become what he is."

"I don't think the sheriff is going to bite any teenagers. Or any one else, for that matter." Gerard opened his mouth. Chris kept talking. "He'd consider it assault, and therefore, against the law." He paused. "He might do it to save a life, but that's about it."

Victoria had turned to look at him in disbelief. "You believe that?"

Chris looked back at her. "Not really. But _he_ does."

"Interesting," she said with a hum.

"Nonsense!" Gerard barked.

"Quite likely," Victoria agreed. "But it's a weakness, I think. A hero complex."

Gerard looked at her, eyes narrowed in calculation. "Use it against him?"

"Of course," she nodded. "I'll need to figure out how. Until then, keep up the friendly chats you've been having with the county's opinion-makers. I think I'll go speak to his son's principal. Maybe they're hiring."

"You don't want me with you?" Gerard asked.

"No," she replied. "Not just yet. There are two high schools. You may need to go to the other one."

The Argents had adopted the Mather tactic of infiltrating any school they thought a werewolf was attending. It was an efficient tactic because teenagers were often targeted by supernatural creatures. Teenagers usually survived the bite, adapted quickly to and they often volunteered to get turned—mostly because the misleading junk in movies and on TV made being a werewolf look like a disease you could manage rather than an infection with no cure except death.

Chris wasn't normally in favor of any kind of mass censorship or book burnings, but he'd long ago decided he'd make an exception for things like Twilight or that TV show with the southern vampires. Inhuman creatures couldn't live among humans peacefully, not for long anyway. Something would make them snap and normal humans would pay the price.

Which brought Chris's thoughts back to the sheriff—he'd sat so comfortably in a crowded, noisy, _smelly,_ coffee shop for nearly 30 minutes. Nothing in the man's demeanor had even hinted at the werewolf within.

Usually, when an adult was turned, they needed to be surrounded by a large, supportive pack to get any kind of control over their new senses, their new strength and emotions—their claws and fangs. But the only temper Stilinski had shown was when he thought Chris wouldn't help hunt down the Alpha Pack.

Perhaps, Chris thought, Stilinski's history in the armed forces might explain some of his control? Recruits were force-fed discipline and control until it was as easy as fish breathing underwater. Chris didn't know of many vets who'd been turned. Either no alpha wanted them (not unlikely—why invite in a person who would have the fighting skills to topple you?), or the vets had enough sense to say no.

Either way, Chris couldn't know if it was the training or something else that had kept Stilinski from flashing fang this morning. He still couldn't help but think that his wife and father were underestimating the man.

-o0o-

The shack didn't smell like alcohol, but it was as dank as Chris thought it would be—spider webs, bird droppings, and mouse nests added to the smell of rust, dust and disuse. Gerard's muscle from the second SUV stayed outside, watching the forest.

Inside, they ignored the old, disintegrating vendetta symbol to look at the new one cutting cleanly through the corrugated tin walls. The symmetry of the cuts proved that it was a sentient creature with claws ("Just call it a damn werewolf.")

Chris could remember a few of the packs that had attended the talks only from the hunts that had happened around the edges of it. He'd attended a couple sessions, but he'd gone as muscle—watching the wolves for signs of ambush or betrayal. He hadn't listened to their _names._

Gerard, on the other hand, had talked to just about everyone—certainly all the hunters, but many of the Alphas, too. ("Do you think I bothered to remember their _names_?")

It was almost the exact thing Chris had thought just moments ago, and the realization that he was even that much like his father made Chris' pulse jump. He took a breath, and focused on what needed doing at the moment. Which was figuring out how the events of _then_ would impact the _now_.

He tried to pry more information from his father about the big gathering eight years ago-simple questions, with easy answers. Aside from Talia Hale and Deucalion, which Alphas had attended? They'd executed a Beta for killing a human. Whose pack had it belonged to? ("You want affiliations, too?")

Gerard dodged the questions. He mocked their concerns. He walked away. Gerard's obstructionism made Sheriff Stilinski seem like goddamn Wikipedia.

And it was a piss-poor commentary on a person when an effing werewolf was more helpful than your own father

It wasn't a complete waste of time though. The more Gerard blocked and denied their questions, the more Victoria frowned at him in disapproval. It wouldn't be long before she booted him from the house, if her flat gaze and crossed-arms-of-doom were anything to go by.

Finally, after nearly thirty minutes of wasted time, Victoria had had enough. "Since your recollections are so… Spotty, there's no reason for us to stay here any longer," she said through a tight smile. Gerard's answering smile was equally false. Part of it was arrogance, but Chris thought part of it was fear. His father sure as hell knew more than he was telling.

One of Gerard's team took a step into the shack. "Sir."

Gerard's turn to his trooper was too quick to be anything but relieved. "Yes, what is it?"

"Anderson says he's spotted an omega. Possibly the one who dug up the grave a couple days ago, and attacked the ambulance."

Gerard's brows lifted. "Well, well."

Chris looked at Victoria. Her brows were up too. "How far away?"

The guy—Cooper, Chris though his name was—looked to Gerard before answering. Gerard gave a small nod. "Half a mile, heading west. We're downwind." That gave them an advantage.

Chris looked to his wife and leader to receive instructions. It had been too long since they'd had a simple, black-and-white hunt. Sure, the first victim had been dead for a couple months, and the guy in the ambulance had been on his way to being dead, but the way the Omega appeared to be escalating, it likely wouldn't wait for his next victim to expire naturally.

Before it could kill a healthy human—a kid or a senior, most likely—they could hunt it down and get rid of it. They could finally be the good guys again.

"See if you can locate it," Victoria ordered the men. "If it's isolated enough, kill it. But it has to be _completely_ isolated," she emphasized. "No trails, no paths, no camping areas. Not even broken glass from some high schoolers' illicit drinking party. And _if_ you kill it, you need to bury it deep enough that coyotes won't dig up the corpse. We can't risk more attention by law enforcement _or_ the media." She looked at them all in turn, stopping at Gerard. "Failure to follow my instructions will have grave repercussions. Do I make myself clear?"

Gerard's three hunters nodded, shifting nervously. Gerard himself stood still. Only a narrowing of his eyes showing how much he disliked being lectured to like a recruit.

"Perfectly clear, Victoria. Your tone was very masterful. "He said it as if she needed the validation, like it was a test and he was the judge. He said it in such a way as to completely undermine Victoria's authority. And then he walked away before she could get it back.

"I'm going to follow up on the Alpha Pack," Chris said before Gerard was completely out of earshot.

If he had to go hunting with his father right now, it might not be the werewolf who got hurt.


	8. Talking Buries What Actions Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Threats are made, ultimatums and warnings issued, and bodies are found along with some things Chris would rather Allison not know.

The sheriff woke from his nap on the couch with an awareness that something was out of place. A quick sniff told him that there was nobody in the room with him—that nobody had _been_ in the room since Lassiter dropped off the shift report two hours ago. He grimaced a little even as he "widened his awareness" the way Derek had taught him. It wasn't that it was difficult, or even foreign, anymore. It was just... Insubstantial. Woo-woo stuff that couldn't be included in an incident report.

Not inaccurate, though. He'd had this same kind of feeling before he went to the old Hale place and found Derek there trying (and failing) to breathe without hurting himself.

He was out the door before he was aware he was moving.

"Boss?"

The sheriff forced himself to stop. "Yeah."

"You going out again?" Gus Trejo asked in a carefully non-judgmental voice. "'Cus Sheriff Dowd's supposed to be here in an hour, and you said you wanted to be here for that."

Michelle Dowd, retired seven years, had offered to look after the night desk while they were short-handed. Said she didn't sleep through the night anyway. Also said she'd do her own paperwork, but she wasn't filing anybody else's.

The sheriff did want to be here to say hello and thank you. He made himself wait as the feeling of desperation and fear, anger and pain grew and sharpened. It was an expanding balloon inside his head, pressing out, pressing harder and harder, demanding that he move. Do something, anything. He was shaking Michelle's hand, genuinely thankful his predecessor was coming in even part-time, when the balloon... Disappeared.

It wasn't even like a pop, because there was no sudden expansion of pressure, just suddenly his head was his own again.

There was still something, though.

As soon as Michelle was settled in with Lassiter, who would teach her the new dispatch system, the sheriff grabbed his keys.

"I shouldn't be long," he said to Gus, who'd also hung around to shake Michelle's hand. "Just wanna check something out."

"Uh-huh," Gus' voice was as carefully free of skepticism as it had been free of judgment. The deputy shifted his belt. "I guess it's gonna be like old times. Except, nowadays, I let you drive."

"You say that every time," Noah pointed out. Gus just grinned and grabbed his jacket.

Which is how he and Gus ended up looking down at the half-buried upper-body of an emaciated drifter while ex-Sheriff Dowd directed the coroner to the site.

"Isn't this how we found that Hale boy's sister?" Gus didn't make it a question.

"Yes, it is," The sheriff answered anyway. "It most certainly is."

"I thought Peter Hale killed his niece to, you know, ascend." Gus lowered his voice as if the local flies were interested in werewolf stuff. Which, given how weird his life had gotten recently, the sheriff had to admit was possible. God, he did not want supernatural bugs on top of everything else.

"The ME said she was bisected post-mortem."

"Hale killed her. Then someone else came along and chopped her in half," Gus finished.

The sheriff nodded. "One of the ways to make sure a werewolf doesn't heal from their injuries is to cut them in half."

"Silver bullets?" Gus asked.

Noah shook his head. "Apparently not. It'll hurt like hell, but get the bullet out, and I'd heal."

"Then why're you wearing a vest?" The sheriff gave him a flat look. Gus grinned. "Stiles?"

"Stiles," Noah confirmed with a sigh. He had to control an automatic flinch at the smell of the dead body. He was guiltily glad he hadn't been a werewolf when they'd found Laura Hale's body. She'd been dead for a week, and if his current sensitivity to scent was standard, he wouldn't have been able to get within 20 yards of her.

Hard to believe it had only been two months since those joggers had reported finding half a body. Less than two months—his world had changed because his son had taken Scott out to look for Laura Hale's severed body.

Something occurred to him and he turned on his radio. "If anybody catches my son heading toward the scene, feel free to cuff him to a tree."

"I wonder if many werewolves wear vests," Gus asked. "Like, would hunters expect them to be wearing body armor?"

Noah tried to remember if he'd ever seen Derek in a vest. "I think werewolves just rely on being faster and stronger, so I wouldn't plan for it." An idea teased his mind. "However, experienced hunters _would_ know to bring a sword to the fucking forest." He crouched as close to the body as he dared. Gus followed him down. "They knew he was a werewolf, and they killed him for it."

Noah's claws were out, and probably the sideburns too. Gus gave him a cautious look, but waited patiently as Noah calmed his wolf. He gave a nod when he had it back under control.

"Is this the one who was eating the livers?" Gus asked.

The sheriff gave a cautious sniff. "I think so."

"So did they kill him because he was eating people, or because he was a werewolf?" Gus asked.

Noah had to shrug. Noah tried not to feel guilty about it. If he hadn't stayed to welcome Dowd back to the station, if he'd left when the urge first hit him, would the man still be alive? Or would they both be lying in the dirt with a bare covering of half-rotted leaves and a scrape of dirt.

"That is a sick, sick thing." Gus shook his head sadly.

They both rose to their feet. The sheriff noticeably quicker than his friend. "Is it sick enough to come to the FBI's attention?"

"Silver Bullet Security Services does business all over the western states," Gus replied.

The sheriff nodded. "And Chris Argent moves with their business. Maybe we can match some FBI cases with places they've been."

The deputy made a face at bringing in the 'feebs' but didn't argue. "I'll call them on Monday."

-o0o-

A quiet moment between classes. A dim corner in an empty hallway. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Allison to pull Scott closer and give him a kiss.

"What was that for?" he asked even as he leaned closer.

"Are you complaining?"

"Absolutely not," he whispered. His breath tickled her cheek. An inch more and they'd be kissing.

Allison wanted to be kissing Scott.

She tipped her head...

"Aw, look! It's George Romero's _Romeo and Juliet._ Live action remix."

"Does your daddy know what you're sleeping with?"

Scott's eyes flashed gold. He turned, keeping himself between Allison and the twins. "Does yours?"

The one on the right, Ethan, smiled. "He'd like Danny."

Scott gave a little shrug of agreement. "Everybody likes Danny."

Aiden smirked. "And Lydia would scare the old man shitless. No fangs required."

They sounded so _smug_. Allison stepped out from behind Scott. "If you hurt either of them, _bite_ either of them, I'll kill you."

Aiden's smirk only deepened. "You'll try."

Really? Allison thought. They'd just mentioned her _father_? "I'll ask my family to help."

That shut them up for a moment. Not long enough.

"One less Argent. One less sociopath." Aiden wasn't smiling now.

Scott snorted. "That's rich. From what I've heard of the Alpha Pack, you're all murderously crazy."

Ethan sneered at him. "What do _you_ know about us?"

"Derek says 'hi'," Allison answered.

"Playing patty-cake with his intestines." Scott shook his head. "That doesn't exactly say 'good mental health'."

Allison swallowed her shock: is _that_ how Derek had been hurt? The twins shifted a little, looking away in uneasy guilt.

"Why did you do that?" It burst out of her. "My aunt could at least justify her sadism by asking for the identity of the Alpha. What's your excuse?"

Ethan and Aiden shared a look. Small smiles lifted their lips, and whatever guilt they'd felt about injury Derek was gone. "We want to know who your alpha is, of course," Ethan said.

Scott looked between the two of them in disbelief. "No way."

Their smiles widened. "Yeah," Aiden said. " _Way_."

Ethan leaned in. "So c'mon, Scotty. Tell us who your alpha is. It's not Chris Argent, or he'd'a committed suicide by now—"

What?

" _What_!" It was practically a screech, but Allison didn't care. "Why would he commit suicide?"

Again, the twins exchanged looks—smug, arrogant, don't-we-know-so-much-more-than-you, looks. Allison had no patience for it. She stepped close to them, forcing them to breathe her scent. Scott shifted with her, covering her back. "Why would he commit suicide?" She stared at Ethan, refusing to blink.

Ethan looked at Scott. "It's one of your family's more endearing legacies—"

"Like your stupid 'Code'," Aiden mocked.

"Death before furriness."

"Of course, they never call it suicide," Aiden continued.

"That would be embarrassing," Ethan said with wide-eyed, over-the-top seriousness.

"Instead they blame the werewolf that bit them. They tell everyone that the werewolf 'killed' them." Aiden tipped his head. "Gives you all one more reason to hunt us."

"Not that hunters need a reason."

"Just like we don't really need a reason to kill _you_." Aiden cooed at her.

Behind her, Scott growled and Allison knew if she could see his eyes, they would be golden. They were all going to hulk out in the hallway. "Why do you want the name of Beacon Hills' alpha?" she asked. "It's not like you need another one in your pack."

The twins backed up, exchanging secret-language looks. There was something in their expressions, though, that said they didn't actually know the answer—they hadn't been told. It meant that not all the alphas in the Alpha Pack were equal.

"You know who it is," Ethan said, voice filled with disbelief.

" _Everybody_ knows who it is," she replied, using the same condescending sneer that Aiden had used on her. "It's not that hard to figure out."

Behind her, Scott was tense. He wouldn't be happy revealing Sheriff Stilinski as the alpha because of his relationship with Stiles, but she hadn't lied. It wasn't that hard to figure out. Most of the details had been filed in court for Kate's arraignment, which meant they were public record. If it wasn't her father and it wasn't Kate, then it was either Stiles or his father They'd been the only others close enough to Peter Hale to stab him.

"Holy shit. It _is_ the sheriff," Aiden said with a laugh. "We thought that was a _joke_!" Scott growled, but Aiden seemed legitimately amused by it. His face and, and his _being_ , freed from the heavy I'm-a-badass-on-serizbizniz vibes he usually exuded. If this is what he looked like when he was with Lydia, Allison could understand her friend's attraction. (A little. Kinda. Actually, no. Not at all.)

"Good luck getting him to do anything for you," Scott growled.

"He's just one guy." Aiden's laugh was back to being dark and mean. "One new alpha with two half-assed betas. What's going to stop us?"

Before Scott could jump on either of the twins, the bell rang and the hall filled with students let out of school. They were loud and obnoxious, and they pressed in on the small group. Thankfully, the twins weren't far enough into supervillainy to be okay with hurting a bunch of innocent teenagers, so with a final sneer and a shoulder-shove, they merged into the crowds.

Allison and Scott watched them go.

"We gotta warn Mr. Stilinski," Scott said.

Allison wasn't sure what good it would do, but she definitely agreed.

-o0o-

"Go home, Stiles," the sheriff said into his phone.

 _"_ _But they threatened Scott and Allison_!" his son said _. "They wanted to know who you were. Or not 'who' but 'what'. And by 'what' I don't mean you being the sheriff."_

"Yeah, I got that the first time you explained it to me."

 _"_ _So you need to have backup,"_ Stiles pressed.

"I already figured that they'd approach me," he said reassuringly. "But I don't think I'm their target. _However_ , I wouldn't object if you and Scott hung out until I can get home."

_"_ _We've got lacrosse practice. With the twins."_

The sheriff had forgotten that. Had the twins joined lacrosse because they liked the game, or to keep an eye on Scott and Stiles? "Well, at least you can keep an eye on them while you play."

"Yeah, well. I'm not sure the twins are the toughest alphas in the group."

"Stiles," the sheriff said firmly. "I am aware of the danger the Alpha Pack represents. Just as I'm aware of the danger of every traffic stop I perform. I have my vest. I have the dried wolfsbane. I have that silver-coated knife you made for me. I'm being as careful as I can be and still do my job."

On the other end of the phone, he heard Stiles sigh. It was sad, but accepting. _"Fine. We'll be done in an hour."_

"You'll stick with Scott?" he asked, remembering what Chris Argent had said about Deucalion attacking the families of targeted alphas. It wasn't great—Scott was about as fearsome as a puppy—but it should be enough.

_"_ _Yeah. I'll drag him home for a COD battle."_

Noah comforted himself with the thought that, just as he probably wasn't a target, Stiles and Scott probably weren't targets either. The Argents still didn't know that Scott was a werewolf, and the Alpha Pack had no reason to go after him. He managed to get off the phone with Stiles when his son was called to class. It was perfect timing, because as soon as he pressed the end call button on his cell, his desk phone rang.

"Stilinski."

"Hey, Sheriff. It's Gary George from Clark County." That was the sheriff's office closest to Las Vegas. "We met at last year's conference?"

Noah threw his mind back to the National Sheriff's Association Conference. It took him a moment but he finally placed his caller. American Indian, late-30's, very opinionated member of the Youth and Juvenile Justice Committee. "Using de-escalation techniques when facing aggressive youths and adults."

There was a low chuckle. "Yeah, that's me."

"It was a good talk." It _had_ been interesting, and George's examples had been well-chosen and easy to remember.

"Thanks," George replied. "I'm calling because I've got a guy here who lists Beacon Hills on his application, and I'm just wondering what the story is."

They talked about the deputy (Lopez, who was planning on attending law school at UNLV), then it devolved into chatting and catching up. Noah managed to get in a couple inquiries about dissected corpses and the Argents, but George couldn't tell him anything new. They hadn't had anything that weird happen in Clark County for a long time.

Noah tried not to envy him.

-o0o-

When Allison got home it was to the fake quiet of her parents and grandfather sitting in the front room sipping whisky and reading current event magazines. Instinctively she didn't want to go in there. There was too much tension. The possibility of violence was too high. Unfortunately, she had news to report and questions to ask.

She took one step into the room.

Her mother looked up. "Allison! How was your day?" Her smile was tight, but still genuine. She was making an effort to be normal.

"There are two werewolves at the school."

Gerard snorted an ugly laugh. "And you said he wouldn't turn anyone."

"They're part of the Alpha Pack."

That shut Gerard up. It also focused all the adults' attention on her. Allison swallowed. "They started school maybe a week ago?" (Nearly two weeks, but she'd forgotten to tell her parents and they hadn't been threatening before today, so it didn't count.) "They were always kind of creepy, but I'd never spoken with them before today."

"Why did you speak with them today?" her mother asked.

"They wanted to know who the Alpha is," she answered. "They knew I was… That the Argents are hunters. They sort of threatened to bite you, because then you'd commit suicide." She looked between her mother and father, watching their guilty reaction. "That's not true, is it? You wouldn't kill yourself over that, would you?"

This time Gerard's snort was mocking. "You'd rather we live as monsters?"

She turned on him. "You don't have to be a werewolf to be a monster." It had become her mantra.

Gerard turned to her parents. "This— _this_ —is what you get if you don't train children prop—"

"Is that what you called it?" her father bit out.

"That's enough," her mother said to both of them, but she kept her eyes on Allison. Allison refused to look away.

"You'd do that?" Her chest felt tight. She couldn't get a full breath.

"It is the Hunter way."

She could feel her heartbeat in her ears, her neck—in her damn fingertips! "You'd just leave me—leave Dad, because of some damn code?"

Victoria shifted forward on her chair, but she didn't get out of it. She didn't even really look upset. "You don't understand."

"No, _you_ don't understand." Allison's fists were clenched. "You'd rather not be with me, not see me grow up, have children. Learn and grow and _be_ because you turn furry once a month. I'm less important to you than your damn _pride_!"

Finally there was an emotion on Victoria's face. Unfortunately, it looked more like exasperation than understanding or regret. "Would you rather have to kill me the first time I lost control and tried to kill you, or your father?"

"Is your will so weak that you couldn't learn to control it?" Allison shot back. "The sheriff has. And the unknown beta has too, or else you'd already know who it is." That made them look at each other. "And if you _did_ know who it was, you'd've probably killed them."

"It's a different situation," Gerard said.

"Is it?" Allison shot back. "The sheriff found the body of a vagrant out in the woods. He'd been cut in half."

 _"_ _What!?"_ At last her mother sounded angry. The glare she shot at Gerard should've left streaks of fire in the air.

"Stiles told me. He's worried that _someone_ —" she stared at her family "—will go after his father."

"His father is a grown man," Chris said.

"He's a werewolf," Gerard said with a sneer.

"He can look after himself," Victoria finished.

Allison was disappointed in her parents though she knew she shouldn't have been. "You all would be okay leaving Stiles an orphan? It's not like he has a parent to spare."

"We hunt those who hunt us," her father said as if it excused anything. Allison found herself echoing her grandfather's eye-roll.

"For Heaven's sake, Allison, we're not _racists_ ," Victoria said.

Her mother honestly believed it.

Allison looked at her parents, looked _hard_. Were they too attached to killing to even question their stupid rules and their too-vague code that they didn't even seem to follow. "I don't think you were defending anyone when you killed that vagrant. I don't think you cared if he _had_ actually hurt anyone living. You didn't care period. In another time, you'd've hunted Blacks or Chinese and thought you were doing a good deed. Just 'pest control'."

Both her mother and Gerard protested. Her father, though, looked like she'd slapped him.

This was worse than finding out her aunt was torturing Derek Hale, and had killed Derek's family.

"You _are_ racist. Unwilling to share your world with anyone who's not exactly like you." Allison's tone was bleak. "I'm going to go stay with Lydia tonight. Maybe tomorrow too. I need to think."

Gerard stepped forward menacingly. "If you tell anyone—"

Allison's laugh was bitter. "They'd slap me in Eichen House. I'm not going to tell anyone anything. _I need to think_."

"Allison." Her father's voice was gentle. Full of understanding and heartbreak. He stepped forward as if to hug her. She stepped back.

"How can you not see that we're the bad guys?" She turned around and ran up the stairs. It wouldn't take her long to pack a couple things. She'd call Lydia, and she go over to her friend's place, but really, she wanted to be with Scott.

Scott who was a werewolf, but also nice and normal and not eager to murder anyone.

-o0o-

It was quiet except for the quiet thumps of Allison's feet on the stairs, until her bedroom door slammed shut. Then it was as if the volume had been turned back up. Gerard yelled at them for being 'too soft' on Allison. Victoria yelled at Gerard about his carelessness in disposing of the omega's body, and Chris… Chris let it flow around him. Around and around while his daughter walked out the door.

They'd had another child once. But the pregnancy had been difficult. Different blood types, they'd said. Victoria's body treated it as an infection rather than an embryo. They'd done what they could, of course, but in the end, Victoria's body had won and their second child hadn't been born. There'd been complications with that as well. Afterwards, the only way they could've had another child together was through in vitro and surrogacy, and it just seemed easier to… Not.

Victoria had been a little relieved at the news. She'd tried to hide it, but Chris had noticed. She wasn't naturally maternal, and in the end, she'd been happy enough to stick at one.

Did she not even notice it was going down to none?

He dragged himself back to the conversation—argument—between his wife and his father.

"I gave you one instruction. _One,_ " Victoria said, voice hard and cold. "Laura Hale's body was found in the exact same condition, and the sheriff's office is in the know."

"You can't think I had anything to do with Laura Hale."

"Of course not." Such was her control that Victoria didn't even flick an eyelash in Chris's direction. Chris tried to comfort himself that Laura Hale had already been dead—killed by her uncle. It didn't help. "But hemicorporectomies aren't that common, either before or after death."

"What she means is it's too recognizable. Once is an incident, twice may be a coincidence, but three times is a pattern," Chris explained, ignoring his father's disdainful look. "If it happens again, Stilinski will call the FBI to report a suspected serial killer."

Gerard snorted derisively. "Given what he is? I find that highly unlikely."

"You need to correct your assumptions," Chris snapped. "Sheriff Stilinski is, first and last, a member of the law enforcement community."

The silence was thick, and Chris could see his father struggle to accept the reprimand. He wouldn't, of course. Gerard would pretend to, or he would redirect, but nothing would change his mind.

"Doesn't change the fact he's a werewolf." (Redirection: Chris had nailed it.) "A werewolf in a position of trust and authority." Gerard shook his head. "It needs to be taken care of."

Victoria's chin came up. "Chris and I will do that. He's in an elected position, so that makes him vulnerable to charges of incompetency."

"Except he's not," Chris pointed out.

"People are fickle," Victoria said. "And popularity is fleeting."

"Especially if the country-bumpkin sheriff can't solve a simple homicide. Or two," Gerard said with a smirk. "Who knows? The death of the omega might call all his investigations into question."

"Oh no." Chris crossed his arms so he didn't try to punch his father. "Don't try to claim that letting the omega be found was part of any grand plan for saving Kate."

"Kate at least knew what her primary duty was," Gerard said.

Chris opened his mouth to argue, but Victoria beat him to it. "Part of her duty was to the family. Just as it is part of your duty." She lifted her chin. Victoria's face was a mask of cold stone, but her voice shook, a slight tremble that others would probably mistake for anger. Chris knew it was fear. It was taking everything his wife had to reprimand a male clan elder. Chris took a step closer to her back, letting her feel his heat and his support.

"Just like Kate, you lied to us about your reasons for coming here," she said firmly. "You have consistently argued with and belittled our strategies and my decisions. And then you ignore my _one_ instruction when handling a matter so inconsequential it could've been done— _and done as ordered_ —by the rawest member of Chris's team, and now you're trying to claim it was planned?" She shook her head. "You have endangered the family, and I have no faith that you won't do it again. Therefore, you will leave Beacon Hills in the next 24 hours."

Gerard sputtered, "How, how _dare_ you _—"_

She leaned forward. "If you disobey me in this, I will get you removed from the Argent clan. Argent territory will be closed to you. Argent aid will be denied you, and the Argent name will be taken from you."

Gerard looked like he'd swallowed a porcupine. Two seconds away from hitting his daughter-in-law. Chris stepped in front of his wife. His father registered the move, and it was enough for him to draw back. His features smoothed out. He took a tight, unhappy breath. "I will, of course, obey your command. But you two are fools if you think you've got this under control."

Gerard turned around and strode to the stairway. Anger making his steps as strong and sure as they'd been the last time Chris had seen his father eight years ago. That visit had been a disaster, too.

"Should I talk to Alliso _—"_

"No," Victoria snapped. She took a breath, gathering her composure around her like a shield. "Her emotions are too high right now, and I think our first priorities have to be the Alpha Pack and the sheriff. Once those have been dealt with, then we can deal with Allison." Victoria jerked her head, almost looking at him but not quite. "Gerard is right in one respect: we have been too lenient with her. That she would castigate what we do—our _calling_..." She sighed, and he brought his hands up to her shoulders.

"We'll have time to explain it better. Once things are quiet again." Chris squeezed her shoulders gently, trying to take away her tension. "However," he went on, "I think we should be more concerned with locating the second beta. We already know about the sheriff, and if he ever shows signs of losing control… Well, most of his actions are public. The second beta could be anyone, and they could be anywhere, doing anything."

By the time he'd finished stating his case, Victoria had turned fully to look at him. "You like the sheriff."

"I like stability, predictability, and the sane alphas give us that. They keep their pack under control and they understand what will happen if they mess with civilians in any way." It was his turn to sigh. "When Talia Hale was alive, she had a lot of influence with the other packs. She had common-sense. She was pragmatic. We could concentrate on the creatures that were actively hunting humans, instead of chasing everything that's different."

"'Evil is as evil does'?" Victoria's lips turned down unhappily.

He gave a rueful shrug. "Allison wasn't wrong."

"You want Allison to say we're the Good Guys," Victoria summed up.

He gave her shoulders another squeeze and a gentle shake. "We've had a request for information about were-coyotes in Arizona, and you know it must be bad if Araya Calavera's asking for help. If the sheriff has Beacon Hills under control, then we should help her."

Victoria laughed softly. "That old battle-axe. I thought it would take the Apocalypse for her to ask anyone for anything." Chris smiled, but his mind hooked on something else.

"When I met with the sheriff, he asked about websites or forums where Hunters traded information."

"What?"

"I didn't tell him that we didn't do that," he continued. "But it made me wonder why not? I mean, there are websites where people exchange information about everything—anything. Why not how to hunt the supernatural without being killed?" Victoria opened her mouth then shut it, because she knew as Chris did, that there was no way the Hunter clans would put their secrets up on the internet when they could barely stand to do it over the phone.

One of the doors upstairs closed and a heavy tread sounded on the floors. They stood silently as Gerard walked down the stairs with his suitcase and his gun case. He didn't look at them, and they didn't say one word as he walked out the door.

"We don't trust the monsters," Chris said softly. "And we don't trust each other. What kind of people are we?"


	9. Calm Sometimes Hides the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek picks a side and Stiles goes missing.

He was better now. There was no reason for him to stay.

There was no reason for him to go.

Derek had called the rental agency in New York, told them he wanted out of the sub-let, but he hadn't told them to look somewhere else for him. New York was Laura's place, and he didn't want to go back there.

He actually hadn't really liked the east coast at all. Too many people. Too many packs he didn't want to join.

Maybe Los Angeles would be nice. It was a free town because of the movies, of course, but also all the universities. He could look into finishing his business degree. He wasn't ever going to work in an office, but his family had holdings, investments, and he didn't mind working with numbers.

He could go to Seattle. Another free town. He could let his beard grow out and become a lumberjack hipster, except he really didn't like coffee. Or plaid.

Las Vegas wasn't an option. The hunters based in Nevada made the Argents look like Care Bears.

His phone rang. Only a couple people had the number, so he answered right away. "What?"

_"_ _Derek. Do you remember if the Argents were here when your mother held those talks?"_

"Yeah, they were here." Argent hunters had chased him through the woods a couple times by. The smell of the woods at night, the blood, his fear—the memory of it was within easy reach.

_"_ _Do you remember which ones?"_

That was harder. He hadn't stopped to look at them after all.

"Um, Chris was there," he said. "And his father. I don't remember Victoria being around, but you don't generally see her until she's shoving a knife in your ribs."

_"_ _Good to know."_ Sheriff Stilinski huffed an almost laugh. _"_ _So you definitely remember Chris and Gerard Argent being in Beacon Hills eight years ago."_

That question seemed awfully precise, almost legal, so Derek took a couple moments to rethink. "More that I remember other people talking about them being here. Like I said, I wasn't involved in the talks. Plus, as a teen their supposed Code made me off limits."

_"_ _A code?"_ the sheriff asked.

"Yeah. Some French thing that translates to 'we hunt those who hunt us,' but I think they only follow it when it suits them." Which was mostly never, as far as he could tell. "Why the 20 Questions, Sheriff?"

" _Well_ ," Stilinski began. _"We've got Gerard and Chris Argent from the failed peace talks, and we've got the Alpha Pack, many members of which also attended the failed peace talks._ "

"You think Deucalion's here for the Argents?"

_"_ _It's a possibility."_

"You can't rely on that." Derek wanted to swallow his words. The sheriff didn't need his warning.

_"_ _I'm not going to."_ Stilinski's voice was wry but unconcerned, and that worried Derek. He had no great desire to be an alpha, but he sure as hell didn't want to leave Beacon Hills without one. If the Alpha Pack managed to kill Sheriff Stilinski, he'd have to fight them for sure, and then he'd die.

"Just be careful," he said.

This time Stilinski's voice was fond. _"You sound like my son."_ Before Derek could express how offended he was by that, the sheriff had hung up.

Derek stared at his screen, stunned (and still offended) but mostly—reluctantly—worried. Was the sheriff stupid? Or just stupidly optimistic? He was acting as if Deucalion and the Alpha Pack were annoying rather than dangerous.

Derek knew it wasn't anything to do with him, not really, but Sheriff Stilinski had been decent to him. He was a good man, and he tried to be a good cop. . He was certainly handling the transition to being a werewolf—an _alpha_ werewolf—with more ease than Derek would've thought possible for a near-middle-aged human. He hadn't deserved what Peter had done to him. He wouldn't deserve what Deucalion—or the Argents—would do to him

Derek tried to set aside his worry with the knowledge that he _had_ warned Stilinski. He, Derek, had done all he could to keep the sheriff safe. Besides, Stilinski was a cop, and he was surrounded by cops who were aware of the danger.

Still… They were all humans.

Kali and the twins didn't seem like they'd be bothered by opponents being either vanilla humans _or_ cops, and the Argents certainly wouldn't let that stop them if they felt it was justified.

Derek rolled over on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position. His stomach still hurt, but thanks to the sheriff and his safe house (and Stiles and Scott's intrusive care), he was a lot healthier than he would've been if he'd been alone.

The once-comfortable couch was now lumpy and unwelcoming.

Derek rolled over.

The man had too many enemies, Derek thought, and not enough allies who could actually do anything to help him. It took time to build up a network of alphas you could trust. Laura had had only three after eight years, and they'd all been more trustworthy at a distance, really.

The clock ticked. The fridge hummed. Somewhere outside, someone ran a power saw.

Derek pulled himself off the couch, and gave a resigned sigh. He owed the sheriff, damn it. And the best way to pay off that debt was to watch Stilinski's back because it sure as hell sounded like man wasn't going to do it.

-o0o-

Being a werewolf gave the sheriff less patience than he'd had before, but he figured his current level of annoyed had nothing to do with his furry side and everything to do with being sheriff

He'd received notice that Shay Hardwicke was pushing to have him put on paid leave until he passed a psychological examination. "Since the attack _had_ to have been traumatizing..." was how the County's General Counsel had phrased it. As if Noah couldn't think past violence to do his job. He'd been in the military, goddamnit. He'd served in Bosnia, and the first Gulf war. Of _course_ he could work around and past and through whatever goddamn trauma killing a crazy, supernatural person had "inflicted" on him.

Plus, he was attending his mandated counselling sessions and the county board knew it. This was just some more of Hardwicke's bullshit troublemaking.

Then he'd had phone calls from a couple of the large news outlets. How the hell they'd learned of the omega's death he didn't know. He'd fended them off, redirecting them to the FBI since he was planning to consult with the Bureau anyway, and one of them had made a snide comment about small-town police departments... So now Noah was beyond grumpy as he pulled into the driveway.

Strangely, given his mood, he was looking forward to listening to Stiles and Scott's relaxed chatter, but the living room was quiet and dim when he entered. It was disappointing, but he figured the boys were just up in Stiles' room.

Except he couldn't hear them...

Ever since he'd been turned, Noah had had to actively _not listen_ to the sounds his son made when he was in the house. He'd gotten good at it too—had to, since Stiles was a hormonally-healthy teenage boy, and one who had trouble being still and quiet even when sleeping.

The sheriff pulled out his phone and called Stiles' number.

" _I don't know why I'm not answering my phone, but you can leave a message and I'll get back to you. Soon-ish. I think._ "

"Stiles. I'm home now, so anytime you want to come back," Noah said. "If you're going to spend the night at Scott's let me know." He ended the call. He knew it was typical to get Stiles' voicemail when he hung out with Scott. They were probably in a PVP match in some online battle game.

But it still meant Stiles wasn't here, and Noah's grumpiness gained an extra level of discontent.

He went into his office to put his service weapon away in the safe as he debated between shower or beer. Before he'd done more than get his belt off his cell rang. Figuring it was Stiles he answered without looking. "Yuh."

" _Sheriff?_ "

That was Astiago's voice. With an internal sigh, he started reattaching equipment to his belt. "What've you got?"

"I was sweeping the high school, as part of my patrol, and Stiles' jeep is here. It's locked and there's no sign..." He barely heard her continue with her report.

Why would Stiles still be at the school? It was hours after lacrosse practice would've been over, and he didn't have any other extra-curricular activities. So he wasn't at the school. Except he wouldn't've left Roscoe behind...

The sheriff interrupted Astiago without thought. "Search the grounds. Get somebody out there with you in case it's something..."

" _Larger than life?_ "

"Yeah, that." He nodded. He couldn't feel his lips. "I'll call around; see if he went home with one of his friends." It wouldn't take him long. Stiles really only had the one friend.

Astiago signed off. The sheriff looked up Scott's number in his contacts. (Memory was one of the few things being a werewolf hadn't improved.) It rang through to Scott's voice mail. Noah hung up and dialed again as he went downstairs to his office and the gun safe. This time Scott picked up. He put it on speaker so he could finish getting ready.

" _Hey, Mr. Stilink—_ "

"Is Stiles with you?"

" _Uh, no_." Scott sounded guilty. " _We're at Lydia's."_

Lydia's? The sheriff wondered without real interest. He was already wondering where Stiles would've gone if he wasn't with his best friend.

Scott wasn't finished. " _We were gonna hang out after practice, but Allison showed up in the middle looking for Lydia and Lydia decided Allison needed the company more than Stiles did._ "

"Allison," the sheriff questioned blankly.

" _Yeah, uh._ " Scott's voice dropped to a whisper but Noah could still hear him. _"There was some fight, and she left home_ , _like, maybe permanently,_ " Scott explained. " _She's taking it hard_."

Oh, the sheriff thought. It wasn't surprising that Allison was having problems with her family, but he did wish she'd picked a different day to walk out. "When was the last time you saw him?"

Scott made a noise while he thought back. " _It was at practice. I, um... He was still on the field with the others when I left with Allison and Lydia._ "

"And you didn't notice Stiles' jeep in the parking lot?" the sheriff asked.

" _What? No. I just grabbed my clothes from the locker room and left."_ Scott finally sounded panicked, but it didn't make the sheriff feel better.

"Did he mention going someplace else?" he asked. "Like the hospital or the safe house?"

_"No_ ," Scott answered. " _But he wouldn't've left Roscoe_."

The sheriff had hoped—strenuously—that Scott would say that Stiles went to the safe house. If his son couldn't be safe with Scott, then Derek was the next obvious choice, but Scott was right. Wherever Stiles had gone, if he'd left his jeep unprotected and abandoned at the school it hadn't been voluntary. He clenched his jaw and squeezed his free hand into a fist. He could feel the wolf clawing beneath his skin, demanding he _find_ , _protect_!

"Can you call a teammate; see if he made it into and out of the locker room?"

" _Sure. I'll call Danny._ " Scott answered. _"Then I'll help you look—"_

The sheriff stopped him. "No. The Alpha Pack already threatened you once today. Take Allison—and Lydia if you can convince her. Then find your mother at the hospital and stay there, where there're lots of people."

There was tense quiet on the other end of the phone. " _You think they've got Stiles._ "

The sheriff shook out his jaw before fangs could form. "They're known to go after the family members of the packs they target."

" _Right._ " Scott's voice was hard and much older than 16. " _I'll let you know when we get to the hospital._ "

The sheriff's next call was to Derek. He wasn't exactly a friend of his son's, but they'd bumped into each other before, and Stiles _had_ spent an evening with Derek at the safe house. It was possible (not likely, but _possible_ ) that Stiles was there again tonight.

Derek's answered his phone with his usual politeness. " _What_?"

"Is Stiles with you?"

" _No. Why_?" He was on speaker and it sounded like his was in his car.

"He's gone missing from lacrosse practice. His jeep's still at the school."

" _That's bad?_ "

"Yeah." Noah paused. Derek was a born werewolf, comfortable with his supernatural abilities. "Are you well enough to help look for him?"

" _Sure. I can look_."

"Thank you," the sheriff said, trying not to sound too desperate.

" _You're welcome_." For those two words Derek's voice sounded warm. Then he coughed, almost embarrassed, and hung up with no good-bye. The sheriff barely noticed. It was enough that Derek had agreed to help.

There was part of Noah that wanted Scott and Derek _here,_ with him, but the sheriff planned on moving out anyway, so it was a silly impulse that he ruthlessly ignored. Instead he reached for the area awareness that he'd been working on with Derek, seeking out the flashes of "otherness" that had found him Malia Tate, Derek, and the unfortunate omega. And the weird spark that was his son.

Noah wasn't anywhere near calm, but he was focused.

One deep breath... two. Another.

Flares bloomed in his mind's map of his territory: Scott, Deaton, Derek—various other groups and individuals he'd picked out before. He looked for the big flare of supernatural energy that he associated with the Alpha Pack and found it outside of town near the mountain. He focused in further on the group, looking for his son (not supernatural, but still something).

It wasn't there.

His cell phone rang and his claws sprang out.

"Shtil—" He worked his jaws a couple times to get the fangs to go back to wherever they came from. "Stilinski."

" _Sheriff_?" It was Allison. " _Danny says he didn't see or hear Stiles in the locker room_." It sounded like they were in a car. Hopefully on their way to the hospital and Melissa.

"So he didn't make it even that far." Not seeing Stiles, okay. Not _hearing_ Stiles? Unlikely.

" _I'm sorry_ ," she said. " _If I hadn't distracted Scott_."

"What else happened on the field?"

" _Uhh... Lydia and Jackson got into a fight,_ " she said. " _Over Aiden_."

"Were the twins there?"

" _Not that I saw,_ " she said. It backed up what he'd sensed with his supernatural radar, but it was still disappointing. " _We've reached the hospital._ "

"Good. Find Melissa and stay close until I give you the all clear."

Allison's voice quieted. " _Does she know? About Scott, I mean?_ "

" _She knows_ ," he heard Scott answer her. " _Mr. Stilinski said I had to._ "

"Some secrets parents will forgive you for keeping," the sheriff explained. "Becoming a werewolf against your will isn't one of them."

" _Oh,_ " her voice was small. " _Makes sense, I guess._ "

"Be safe. Let me know if anything happens." He hung up, too unsettled for polite goodbyes.

Did he leave now, or try focusing again?

Before he could decide, his radio crackled to life.

" _Unit 5 to sheriff_." It was Astiago checking in. " _We found signs of a disturbance—kicked up dirt, drag marks—on the path to Garner Road behind the field."_

"Anything to indicate it was Stiles?"

" _Nothing that_ I _can detect._ "

"I'll meet you there."

-o0o-

This was probably the stupidest thing Derek had ever done. Considering the last two months, that was saying something.

The Alpha Pack was staying in a hotel a couple luxury-levels above what was available in town. Backed up against natural hot springs and a golf course, it was made for semi-rich people to get away from the city, but still have access to all the nice city things.

He was barely on resort grounds when he was stopped by Kali and a big, bald Alpha _that he_ _remembered_...

Ennis. It was Ennis—who had killed Paige because Derek had asked him to.

Derek felt more breathless than he had while Kali played in his stomach. He stood, tense, ready to run…

But he didn't run. He watched Kali, didn't look at Ennis, and waited for the boss to show up.

"Well, well, well. The last Hale." The smooth, British voice belonged to Deucalion. Slim, white, elegant, the lines of his face accentuated by the dark glasses he wore. He carried a white cane that was rumored to be completely unnecessary.

Derek swallowed. "Hello, Deucalion."

"This is an unexpected move on your part," Deucalion mused. "A lowly beta, come to confront... Well—" He waved a hand around his pack. "Us."

The twins had stepped up beside Derek. He was surrounded. "I'm not here to fight you."

" _Fight_? Is that what you thought it would be?" Deucalion chuckled, and Kali and Ennis allowed themselves to smile. "One poor little beta against us." Duecalion tsked, and shifted to a thoughtful pose. "Are you here to call out Ennis for the death of your teenage sweetheart? Because _you_ know he was invited..."

Derek cut him off. "I'm not here about that either." He forced the words through his painfully tight throat. He did _not_ want to discuss Paige with Deucalion.

Deucalion smiled. "Well. That is certainly smarter than I expected you to be." Again, the alphas all chuckled at Derek's expense.

Derek thought of how the sheriff had remained calm at all those press conferences and tried to pull some of that attitude around him. The Alpha Pack wasn't going to kill him, he reminded himself. He told himself they _had_ to be curious at his coming to them. They _wouldn't_ kill him.

It sort of worked.

"If you're not here to fight, then you must want to join us." Kali lifted her lip in a sneer. Deucalion made his voice sympathetically saccharine. "Unfortunately, my dear boy, we don't take little betas like you."

Derek's jaw clenched, but he refused to fidget while Deucalion and the other alphas looked at him like he was bad meat. "I'm not here for that either."

"So tell me—last mighty warrior of the once great Hale pack—why exactly are you here?"

"You're not in Beacon Hills for the sheriff."

Kali lifted a brow. "We're not?"

Derek looked at her. " _You_ might be, but I wasn't talking to _you_." He tipped his chin at Deucalion. "He's here for an Argent."

Deucalion went still. Derek could _feel_ the pressure of his attention.

"You lost your sight about 8 years ago. The same time as those truce talks. It wasn't a wolf," he said firmly though he wasn't exactly sure. He vaguely remembered his parents talking about a beta who'd tried to take over the pack, but whether that happened after or was the cause of Deucalion's blindness, Derek didn't know. His palms were sweaty, and they could all hear his heart thundering in his chest, but he kept his voice steady and that's all that counted. "That leaves one of the hunters the packs were negotiating with. Out of the four hunter clans invited, the Mathers didn't show, the Campbells are scattered and essentially powerless, and the Calaveras haven't left Mexico for twenty years. That leaves the Argents."

In front of him, Deucalion wasn't just still; he was frozen, prey-still. Derek kept talking.

"Chris..." Derek mused. "He's a hard bastard, but he'd've just killed you. Victoria would have done it, but she stays in the background. The only other one I remember being discussed is Gerard Argent."

"He's not an Argent," Ennis growled. "He's a _Mather._ "

"Mathers are all fucking fanatics," Kali added.

Derek looked at her and her 4-inch toenails, and kept his mouth shut. "Gerard comes to town and a few days later, you all show up." He looked at Deucalion, leader of the Alpha Pack. "You're here for Gerard Argent. He's the one that blinded you." Derek didn't look away from Deucalion, but he watched the other alphas exchange glances, shifting uncomfortably. The twins even moved out from behind him giving him a clear escape path.

Not that he was going to run, but it was nice to have them where he could mostly see them.

Deucalion, when he finally spoke, did so in a low, vicious tone. "Well, well, well. Aren't you _clever_."

It was so tacky that Derek almost snorted. There was also a voice in his head (that sounded suspiciously like Stiles) that wanted to respond with 'Not really, but at least I don't spout hackneyed villain lines', but he suppressed both because Deucalion (and Kali and Ennis and the twins' other form) could all kill him.

"He's dying," Deucalion announced with cold viciousness. "And I want to be there to watch as he grows helpless and feeble."

Dying? Derek thought. Gerard was old, but not ancient.

"I think he may have grabbed Stiles, the sheriff's son," Derek said calmly. "If that's the case, then Stilinski will arrest Gerard, like he did Kate, and you won't get to do anything to him."

Finally, Deucalion's show of calm control cracked. A small frown showed above his sunglasses. "Arrest him?"

Derek shrugged. "It's what he does."

That had the other alphas exchanging even more looks, this time of disbelief and amusement. Only Deucalion was still. "What are you suggesting?"

Derek took a deep, steadying breath. Now came the hard sell.

-o0o-

Stiles _had_ been kidnapped, but it wasn't the Alpha Pack that took him.

There were traces of Scott on the field and the benches, but no other werewolf had been anywhere close to his son. Stiles' scent was clear. Nearly two hours of training and running around the lacrosse field had saturated his skin and clothes with his sweat, and it was easy to track him through the teen-drenched forest to Garner Road on the other side.

However, Noah had picked up another smell close to his son's. He could tell it was an older human male. It was slightly sour and vaguely familiar, and too damn faint for him to identify. Whoever had taken his son had barely broken a sweat.

Desperation had him pulling out his cell and dialing his son's number one more time. It rang, and rang… He braced himself for his son's voice telling him to leave a message.

" _Hey, Dad_."

" _Stiles!_ " Noah felt lightheaded. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

" _Um. No_?" Stiles' voice was tiny, uncertain, and the sheriff had to fight back his claws.

"What do they want?" _His_ voice was a growl, but he didn't bother trying to sound normal. They had his _son_.

" _No idea. This guy's a silver-coated loo_ —" The sound of a solid hit cut Stiles off. " _Ow! Careful of concussions, grandpa_!"

Gerard Argent had his son.

He crooked his finger at Astiago, drawing her to his side, even as he continued speaking.

"Stiles! Don't be brave. Or stupid." Or stupidly brave, the sheriff silently added, even knowing it was futile. Noah had to work not to crush his phone. It was pressed against his ear hard enough to hurt, and he didn't need to imbed pieces of broken plastic in his skull.

He could hear movement from Stiles side of the call—cloth shifting, dragging. Stiles muttering complaints because he didn't know how to keep his mouth shut against bullies.

" _Hello,_ Sheriff." Gerard's voice on Stiles' phone explained the noises from before. " _Your son thinks he's clever_."

Beside him, Astiago was talking to dispatch, trying to get a location on Stiles' cell. She stood next to him as if she'd never had a problem with him being a werewolf, never doubted his ability to stay in control. Waiting to communicate with dispatch and whoever else could assist. She was a good cop and he was glad she'd stayed.

"What do you want, Gerard?"

" _You dead_?" Gerard suggested lightly.

It took only a moment for the sheriff to reject it. "You could've had me killed any time since you arrived. I haven't been hiding." Noah thought fast. There was only one other thing he had in common with Gerard. "I can't get the charges against Kate dropped, but I can talk to the prosecutor—"

" _I'd appreciate that_ , sheriff, _but that's not what I need from you_."

Damnit! Damnit! Damnit! He'd done that wrong. Never offer something that wasn't asked for—it was a basic principle of hostage negotiation. Noah quickly tried to recall his training, but he had a SWAT team for this sort of thing, and they used up most of the money for specialist training.

The only thing that he remembered was that targeted actions were bad. They meant that the hostage taker had already envisioned the ending—often death for everyone.

Breathe, he told himself.

"I'm willing to listen to what you want, but you know I can't guarantee—"

" _You're incorrect. What I want you_ can _guarantee_."

Oh.

Gerard's demands had nothing to do with Noah as the sheriff, and everything to do with him being a werewolf.

"I'm listening."

" _I need to talk to you. Alone_." Gerard said. Noah resisted the urge to roll his eyes. " _Just you. None of your deputies, or your pathetic betas._ "

"That can be arranged, if you do something for us." Don't give anything away for free. It was another basic principle of hostage negotiation.

Gerard chuckled. "I won't kill your son," and then he hung up.

"God _damn_ it!" He wanted to chuck his phone. He wanted to rip apart _something_.

"We have units going to the Argent's house to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Argent," Astiago reported in a soft voice. "Lassie and Sher– I mean Officer Dowd, are tracking down Gerard Argent's rental vehicle. Apparently, he got a parking ticket a few days ago and made a fuss about it. It's new. It should have OnStar. "

Noah listened to Astiago. There was a small shake in her voice—she knew he was close to shifting—but she still stayed, giving him the information he needed to make decisions _as sheriff_ and not as a wolf. It steadied him, because he _was_ the goddamn sheriff!

"Send a unit to the hospital to talk to Allison Argent," he said. "There was some confrontation between her and her family this afternoon. Maybe it'll help identify what Argent is after. He has a posse—two or more men."

Astiago nodded. "I've seen them."

"Have they been spotted since Stiles was taken?" the sheriff asked.

"If no, are they with Argent Sr.?" Astiago restated the question. She hesitated. "Um, did you hear anything identifying from his end of the call?" It was a good idea.

The sheriff shut his eyes, tuned out the forest around him as much as he could, and concentrated on what had been _behind_ Stiles and Gerard. "The reception cut out a couple times, so not in town but not far outside of it either."

Astiago wrote it down. "What else?"

It had been hollow, cut off from other sounds… "Inside. A room, a car—something small. Slight metallic pinging…

"Car engine just after it's been turned off?" she suggested.

The sheriff nodded. "Very close to that."

Her radio clicked and she turned away to answer it.

"I'm going to try something," he told Astiago softly. She nodded, and kept listening as Cordova detailed their search of the Argent house and Gerard's room.

Assured she had his back, Noah crouched close to the ground. He put his fingertips on the dirt and widened his senses the way Derek had taught him. It was twice as effective as doing it from the couch in his office. Beacon Hills lit up like a CG map in a sci-fi movie. He ignored the big splotches of energy. He didn't go looking for Derek or Scott. Instead, this time, he deliberately looked for the odd blip of something that was so often beside Scott. The spark that could only be Stiles.

And he found it.

"They're on the move. Heading to the highway."

"Copy."

"You'll need to drive." He was already marching back along the path to the school.

Astiago jogged to catch up. "Sir! We should wait until they've stopped moving.

Noah swallowed a growl. She was right.

Didn't make him feel better.


	10. By Themselves, Sticks and Stones Hurt Nobody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris helps out, Allison sneaks out, the Sheriff makes a statement, and Gerard still has Stiles.

"What the _hell_ is he thinking!"

Victoria didn't answer him, but the look on her face was forbidding as she led the way into the office.

Two Beacon County sheriff's were poking around their house, asking invasive questions, and passing silent judgement on them—for what, Chris had no idea, but every moment had grated.

"Doesn't he _care_ about the damage he's doing to us? To our business?" Chris continued, pacing a tight circle around the room.

Victoria lifted the secure phone, and dialed. "We have and will continue to provide all possible assistance to the police in this matter," she said. "Phone Allison and let her know my decision."

He nodded acknowledgement. He pulled out his cell even as Victoria's call went through to Chris's Aunt Elizabeth, the head of the Argent clan in North America.

"Elizabeth. It's Victoria. I'm calling about my father-in-law," she said into the phone. "We need to begin the process of _désaveu_." [disavowal]

-o0o-

Noah and Astiago had moved back to the lacrosse field, closer to the parking lot. Astiago was still relaying updates from his people at the station and out on the streets, still standing beside him as sideburns sprouted and disappeared as he fought his anger and worry.

He was doing better now.

He kept one hand on the dirt, following the energy point that was his son. It hadn't gone out the highway. Instead, it had stopped at chain motel just on the edge of the town, and then moved back towards the center.

Haigh and Newman had gone to that motel. The desk attendant had recognized Gerard Argent, and remembered the men he'd been with. "Cold, man. Never a nice word for anybody." They'd suddenly paid their bill and left. "Just this evening."

Since they'd checked out, management had let the deputies in without a warrant, and now Newman was passing information on to Astiago, who was giving it to Noah.

"Take-out menus, and a book of crosswords," Astiago reported. "No obvious clues as to where Argent would take Stiles. They're going to check for fingerprints and get Tara to run them. Maybe they can get real names." The rooms had been booked under the name 'Silver'. Hardly clever.

The sheriff hummed non-committedly. Knowing the names of Gerard's posse wouldn't tell him if they were part of this with Gerard. It might help with the investigation after, but it didn't help them find Stiles _now_.

The speck that was Stiles stopped moving again, back on the fringes of town. Was it their final destination?

His phone rang. He looked at the screen. It was Stiles' number.

"Mr. Argent."

" _Stilinski_."

"Before we can talk, I need proof of life." It maybe wasn't the most diplomatic way to put it, but Noah didn't care.

Gerard chuckled. " _Of course_."

There was scuffling in the background. Stiles being dragged over to the phone? Muffled noises that could be a voice talking behind a gag. Cursing that had definitely not come from either his son or Gerard, so that meant that at least one of Argent's henchmen was with him.

"Dad!" Stiles shouted. "These guys are assholes. All three of them, but especially the old one."

Jesus! His son was an idiot—brave, smart, and still an idiot. Noah wasn't surprised when Stiles' info dump was followed by the sound of fist hitting flesh.

"Stiles, don't!" he shouted back. "I don't need you to tell me that stuff. Your job is to keep yourself safe."

" _Well, he's doing a piss-poor job of it_ ," Gerard's voice oozed. " _Poor discipline at home, I imagine_."

The sheriff ignored Argent's taunting. "I'm satisfied that my son is alive and that you didn't play a recording. Thank you for your cooperation." Rote words. Impersonal. Nothing for Argent to hook into and poke Noah's temper with. "Are you ready to discuss what you want out of this?"

" _I want your head on a pike. Isn't that what I'm supposed to say_?"

Calm, calm. Soothing and neutral, Noah reminded himself. "You can say whatever you want, Mr. Argent. I'm listening."

He was supposed to use Gerard's name a lot, remind him that he was a 'regular' person, but somehow, the sheriff didn't think the werewolf hunter would appreciate being on a first name basis with him. Plus, Noah didn't want to use Gerard's first name. If he tried to pretend there was a rapport between the two them, the sheriff thought he'd puke.

" _In that case, I would like to meet you—just you—at a location of my choosing. We'll talk, and if I like your answers, I'll release… Stiles_?" He said the name as if it was infectious.

Beside him, Astiago was shaking her head. "Absolutely not," she whispered.

"When and where," the sheriff responded.

"Oh no," Gerard said. "I'll only give you the details once you're alone. Remove your radio and your service belt. Leave everything behind but your cell phone. Then go to your son's car—I know you have a set of keys for it—and drive away."

"Drive where," the sheriff asked. He was already unclipping the handset from his shoulder strap.

" _I'll tell you that once you're alone_ ," Gerard answered. " _Now, strip off your weapons. After all, you're a big, bad Alpha now. You don't need guns to be dangerous. Isn't that right?"_

"Nobody needs guns to be dangerous, Mr. Argent. They just need an excuse."

" _Or a worthy cause_ ," Argent barked back. Noah heard him take a steadying breath. " _I'll give you further instructions once you're on the road. Five minutes_ , sheriff."

Noah ended the call and shoved the phone in his pocket. He transferred the jeep's spare keys from one of the small pouches to his pants pocket. He secured his weapon before snapping it into his holster and handing it to Astiago.

"This is a really bad idea, Sheriff," Astiago said, taking the weapon and belt from him.

"I'm aware of that."

He lifted a hand to unbutton his shirt, then stopped. Like most police officers, he wore his ballistic vest under his shirt. It was standard issue, and Argent had to know that. However, the hunter hadn't mentioned the vest like he had the weapons, and it would give Noah protection against most bullets and some protection against blades. He dropped his hand. He was keeping the fucking vest.

"Let everyone know to keep an eye out for Stile's jeep instead of my cruiser." He shook his head. "I can't believe he suggested I get into something even _more_ distinctive than my police car."

"He knows cruisers are lo-jacked?"

"Hmm, probably," the sheriff agreed. "And he may have me switch cars."

"Wanda will be looking for it on the traffic cams." She shrugged because it wasn't the _best_ plan, but it was the best they'd been able to cobble together in the ten minutes since Gerard's last call.

He climbed into Roscoe, surprised when he didn't have to adjust the seat. When had Stiles grown so tall?

Astiago's radio crackled. It was Tara. "They got one of the minions," Astiago reported as if Stilinski hadn't heard it for himself.

"He was in the apartment across the street from here, just like you said," she went on. "That means I can come with you now. Hide in the back, at least until the next checkpoint."

Noah looked at his son's jeep. He hadn't put the top on so the back was fully exposed to whoever looked in it. "Can't risk it." He took off his belt and handed it to her.

"If you get killed freeing him, Stiles won't forgive you. You know that, right?" She had to jog a little to keep up with him. "Neither will Gus or Tara or Wanda, or Lassie or _any of us_ at the downtown station."

Noah stopped and sighed. "I am very glad you stayed, Astiago. I will miss you if I do get killed, but I am _absolutely_ _not_ planning on that happening. You know that _,_ right?" He stared at Astiago until she nodded.

Now he just had to make the plan work.

-o0o-

Allison watched the backs of the two deputies sent to protect them.

Sent to keep them away, more like.

Why had she agreed to come to the hospital with Scott? Why had _Scott_ agreed to come to the hospital when his _best friend_ was in danger?

Beside her, Scott was doing breathing exercises she thought were Lamaze. Given how tight his grip on her left hand was, the breathing technique wasn't helping.

"If I call Lydia, she could come pick us up," Allison suggested.

"Mr. Stilinski would kill us."

"He has to survive my grandfather first." She kept her voice low. "Dad might not like him much, but he does respect Gerard as an effective Hunter."

Scott squeezed his eyes shut, and Allison knew it was to hide the gold glow as he fought for control over his wolf. "We don't even know where to go."

Allison leaned forward. "I thought Betas could track their Alphas through the pack bond."

"He's not my alpha." Scott's protest was weak from repeition, and Allison's frowned in confusion.

"How is he _not_ your Alpha?" she asked. "He's the father of your best-friend. You spend half your free time in his house. You listen to him as if he was an Alpha."

It was Scott's turn to frown. "He's the _sheriff_. Not listening to him would get me in tons of trouble with my mom."

Allison sat back, looking at the back of the two deputies in front of waiting room.

"Do you not want him as your Alpha?" she eventually asked him. "I mean, you already know what he'd be like: exactly the same as he's been your whole life."

"But alphas… Don't they want to control you? That's what Peter wanted." Scott looked thoughtful.

"I don't know." Allison frowned. "I mean, Peter Hale was crazy, and I don't know how much I can trust what my parents told me about werewolf behavior."

Scott looked thoughtful, but Allison didn't push. Having acknowledged how messed up _her_ family was and how that would likely affect how she reacted to female authority figures, she could hardly give Scott a hard time about how _he_ reacted to male ones.

There was a TV in the corner. It was on Nickelodeon but the sound was off. Allison watched the cartoon and tried to figure out the plot. It was probably something completely different from what she was imagining, which made it a good metaphor for her life up to now.

"I could give it a try," Scott said quietly, his eyes were also fixed on the weird cartoon show.

She squeezed his hand. "Only if you want to."

"Stiles would do if for me," he said. "Call Lydia; ask her to meet us at the south entrance to the hospital."

-o0o-

Chris had no idea what his father was thinking.

Before today, he had assumed that Gerard would always be motivated by A) the hunt, B) his reputation as a Hunter, and C) staying at the top of the Argent chain of command.

And yet… Silver Bullet Security, and therefore the Argent clan, relied on orders from law enforcement. This one action jeopardized everything. Why would any cop trust them after this?

Victoria had decided that part of stopping those doubts from growing into blacklisting was to help the Beacon Hills deputies bring down his father. Since they all seemed to know that Sheriff Stilinski was a werewolf, Chris had grabbed some of the wolfbane that his father favored while hunting. Just in case. He'd also let them into his armory to stock up, and now he was going with them to their field command center. He was a security consultant, so he was going to _consult_ , and do everything he could to make sure the sheriff and his son come out of this alive.

And if part of him would enjoy bringing down sanctimonious, trouble-making bastard of a father that was completely irrelevant.

-o0o-

" _Stilinski_ ," Gerard Argent's voice sounded hollow. The connection between the two phones was weak. It meant the hunter was moving farther away from the town. It wasn't good news for Noah. He only had so many deputies he could call on to watch the roads and relay his position to dispatch. Even though there were fewer roads to watch, there were still more streets than he had deputies.

"Argent," he replied. "I've reached the checkpoint, as you requested. Now, in return, I need proof of life."

" _He's still alive_ ," Gerard said.

As if he'd take the hunter's word for it. "I'm sure he is. But it's still protocol to get confirmation."

" _Quid pro quo,_ Sheriff _Stilinski? I tell you things, you tell me things,_ " Gerard mocked. Maybe he thought Noah wouldn't recognize the quote. Who hadn't seen that clip from _Silence of the Lambs_?

"That's exactly right, Mr. Argent," Noah kept his voice monotone. "But let's keep it to the case."

" _Hmmm_." The sound of breathing faded and Noah figured the old man had pulled the phone away from his face.

Noah strained to hear any background noises, anything he could use to identify where they were keeping his son. It sounded distant and tinny. No cars, no music, no wind in the trees. It could be Hale house, the sheriff thought. Argent would probably think it fitting to attack the new Beacon Hills alpha at the site of his daughter's horrific attack. The graphic reminder that Argents killed children would be an unspoken threat.

" _Dad_?"

"Hello, Stiles," he said as soothingly confident as he could. "You okay?"

" _Dad, you can't come_ ," Stiles pleaded. " _You know they're going to kill you_." The words were slightly slurred. The sheriff wondered how hard the hunters had hit his son. He wondered how often.

"I figured," he said fatalistically.

" _Dad_!" His shout cut off, and Noah pictured someone grabbing Stiles by the collar and yanking him away from the phone. He breathed in the scents of his son that were ingrained the old jeep. Under those, so faint he almost didn't recognize them, were Claudia's.

" _Are you satisfied, Stilinski_?"

"I'm satisfied that Stiles is alive and that you didn't play a recording. Thank you for your cooperation."

" _Screw my cooperation_ ," Gerard said with a laugh. " _It's your cooperation that matters_."

"I'm listening, Mr. Argent."

" _No snarling? No useless threats? You're supposed to be an Alpha, and you've got about as much backbone as that mewling Omega_."

The sheriff's heartbeat jumped. He forced his voice to calmness. "You mean the transient that was killed in the preserve?"

" _I mean the_ creature _that was eating human remains._ " Gerard's voice was, as usual, condescending and belittling. It made Noah wonder if he had any other tone. " _You certainly weren't dealing with it._ "

"So you did?"

For a moment, it looked like Gerard would say something incriminating. The sheriff heard Argent's inhalation as he prepared to rant, but then he stopped and chuckled as if impressed. " _Oh no,_ Sheriff. _We're not here to talk about the past_."

"I'll talk about whatever you like, Mr. Argent, as long as you continue to prove to me that Stiles is alive."

" _You're pathetic_ ," Gerard spat. " _Exactly what I need_." The sheriff's eyebrows rose in surprise. That sounded like Gerard actually _did_ want more than to kill him. What could he, as an alpha, do that _he_ , as the sheriff, could not?

Too frigging much, actually.

"What do you need, Mr. Argent," he said mildly. "I'm still listening."

" _Get to the still_ , Sheriff. _You know the one I mean. If we're going to be negotiating a deal, we should do it in the appropriate place._ "

Per procedure, Noah repeated his instructions back. "I'm to go to the old bootlegging still located on Hale grounds. The one where Derek reported some recent vandalism. Is that correct?"

" _You know damn well it is,_ " Gerard growled. " _And don't pretend you don't know which one I mean. I know you spoke to my son about it._ "

"Still," the sheriff said, trying hard to remain unruffled and on script. "It's good to have these things clear. No misunderstandings between us."

" _If you don't understand me, then your son dies. I think that's incentive enough._ " He waited a moment, checking if Noah was going to talk back. Noah kept silent. " _Come alone. Come on foot. Leave your phone. If I see any of your betas or any of your_ _deputies Stiles will suffer. Do you understand_ that _,_ Sheriff _Stilinski?_ "

"Perfectly," Noah confirmed. When Gerard hung up, he pulled his fingers out of Stiles' steering wheel. He'd worry about fixing it later. After he'd gotten Stiles back.

"Did you get that?" he said into his phone that he let drop into his lap as if despondent.

" _Copy that, Sheriff_ ," Astiago said. " _We'll send someone over to speak to Chris Argent to get a location_."

"Make sure everyone has full protection and night-vision goggles," he said. "I want them completely equipped."

" _Bungalon's already outfitting the team, sir,_ " she confirmed. " _Quick update, though: Scott and Allison Argent have left the hospital_."

"Damn it," Noah growled. "He'll want to help. If anyone comes across him, set him up at field command with a first aid kit. That should keep him in place."

" _Yes, sir._ " She paused. " _Good luck_."

Before he could thank her, or give assurances that were more optimism than truth, she hung up.

Since they'd agreed that Gerard would have a man watching him at this checkpoint just as he'd done at the school, the sheriff gave himself a visible shake before lifting the phone back up and carefully turning it off. He made a show of hiding it under the seat along with the keys. (One of his deputies would be along to drive the jeep back to the station.) Once he'd done that, there was nothing to do except begin to jog in the direction of the Preserve.

Noah wasn't sure if it was being a werewolf, or not carrying around the 20-lb service belt, but running was easy. It was even better once he was out of the city and into the woods. It made him alive in a way that he hadn't felt since on patrol in Bosnia. He went faster, and faster, and it was as it had been running with Derek in the forest—exhilarating, no matter what the reason. If he hadn't been going to rescue his son he might have shouted in sheer joy.

Trees were a blur as he passed them, or jumped over them, or used them as a springboard to change directions. He could feel his son's presence ahead of him and to the left.

He could also feel Derek and the Alpha Pack on the move. They were in the Preserve and it felt like they were heading towards the shed as well. That could be problematic. Whoever in the Alpha Pack wanted revenge on Gerard Argent, probably wouldn't care if Stiles made it out in one piece.

Scott was well behind him. Safe from everything except Chris Argent if he ever found out his daughter was dating a werewolf.

He could almost sense his deputies, most with only a handful of scattered days of SWAT training, forming up on the edge of the Preserve, preparing to risk themselves for his son and him.

Good people, all of them.

Without conscious thought, the sheriff paused his run to howl, low and long. "I'm here," it said. "I'm alive!"

-o0o-

Beside her, Scott hunched over, groaning in pain.

"What's wrong?" Lydia demanded. "You better not vomit in my car."

"He's not throwing up." Allison leaned over to cover Scott. "You're not throwing up, are you?" she whispered.

"The sheriff," Scott whispered back. "He's calling."

Allison watched as Scott's eyebrows disappeared and those god-awful sideburns popped out. It was _so weird_! Weird enough that she hadn't noticed Lydia pulling the car over.

"What's wrong with Scott?" Lydia asked. Followed by a much louder, "Oh my _god_! What's with his _hair_?!"

-o0o-

It wasn't loud, not like the first time he'd heard it, but then Derek wasn't standing right next to Sheriff Stilinski either. It _still_ reverberated through his bones like extra-deep bass at a concert. Except it didn't just rattle his lungs—it tried to pull his wolf from inside him.

"You said he wasn't your alpha," Aiden said accusingly from the seat next to his. They were in a large SUV not unlike the ones the Argents used when hunting werewolves. The irony was lost on the Alpha Pack.

Derek rolled his jaw, trying to force his fangs away. "I haven't accepted him as my alpha."

Ethan, on his other side, tugged on Derek's sideburns. "But you want to."

"No!" It was instinctual. But... "I've already lost two alphas—my mother and my sister."

Aiden nodded. "So, you're going to wait to see if this one survives."

"Kind of cold-blooded." the other twin said with a dubious look.

"Smart though" Aiden waggled his eyebrows as if it was a joke.

Derek wanted to argue with them, he really did, but he'd changed his form as a result of the sheriff's call. "I'm not ready."

In the seat in front of them, which he had all to himself, Deucalion turned toward them and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "So kill him, and become the alpha yourself."

It wasn't the first time Derek wondered if coming to them for help had been a good idea after all.

 


	11. Pain Is the Enemy of Empathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sheriff rescues Stiles from Gerard, but can he save himself (and Stiles and Derek) from the Alpha Pack?

The sheriff stopped well away from the old still. He wasn't out of breath (which was nice) but he was sweaty (which wasn't). He stretched and paced a little, letting himself cool down. He wasn't sure if he needed it, now he was a werewolf, but he did not need to get a muscle cramp in the coming showdown with Gerard. Also, appearing too anxious or accommodating would weaken his ability to negotiate. He had to be calm, in control—firm but fair. He couldn't do that if sweat ran into his eyes.

He opened some buttons on his shirt to encourage drying as he walked the final distance to the shed. The light was failing, but dimness was something else that didn't bother him anymore.

He smelled them before he arrived.

Stiles and Gerard.

Stiles' scent was reassuringly vibrant even though he could smell blood. Gerard's scent was old, thin, with that sour overlay that Noah finally identified as hospitals and medicine.

He thought about that smell, wondered what it meant. If Gerard was ill…

Well, it didn't actually explain anything now, but it might later.

He turned on Astiago's phone and set it to record. He hoped the hunters were all too cautious or too confident to search him. Then, with a final steadying breath, he walked—hands held away from his body—into the no-longer abandoned shed.

Argent's two helpers were stationed in obvious spots inside the structure, well away from where Gerard stood. They'd set up battery-powered work lights that cast harsh blobs of light on the rusted tin walls. They would make night vision goggles useless.

Against the north wall, Stiles hung from a ceiling beam. Thick chains lifted his arms above his head, but his feet were on the floor. He was gagged—a cloth shoved roughly into his mouth. There was blood on his cheek from a scrape, some on his knuckles and his knees. He'd either fought or tried to run. One of the loops went around his neck. It was hooked to a post, and Gerard's men stood close by ready to pull it tight to strangle his son. His _16-year-old_ son.

How could anyone think this was right? That it was justified in _any_ way.

Still, Stiles was alive. The sheriff would concentrate on that and not his growing desire to rip Gerard's guts out. His hands went to his waist, but his bulky service belt wasn't there. He ground his teeth and reminded himself that he was still the sheriff first and a werewolf second.

He walked into the shed until he was level with Gerard's minions. He could watch them with his peripheral vision. It wasn't a great tactic, but it was better than having his back to them.

"Mr. Argent," he kept his voice cordial, as if this was a routine traffic stop and nothing more, nothing more.

"You made good time," Gerard said. "I've heard being a werewolf can cure most things. Now I believe it."

"On the phone, you indicated that you needed something from me." In the corner, Stiles made noises behind his gag. Noah carefully didn't look at him. "I'm here. I'm listening."

"Screw your hostage negotiation bullshit," Gerard growled. "It makes me sick that you think you're a cop."

"I kind of got the impression that you were already sick." Again, the sheriff kept his voice mild. Hell, if his official reasonableness could force Gerard into making a mistake, he'd try to channel Andy Griffin. Unfortunately, his question didn't push Gerard into a frenzy; it steadied him.

"Then you know." Gerard stared at Noah. Noah looked back, eyes and face neutral. "It was outside the restaurant, wasn't it. You could smell it." He nodded. "I thought I saw something in your eyes."

Over by Stiles, one of Gerard's henchmen shifted. "What're you talking about?" he asked. Gerard ignored him.

"He's dying," Noah announced to Gerard's men.

Gerard looked amused even as his two henchmen made noises of surprise and concern. They shifted closer to each other, but they didn't move away from Stiles. Damnit.

"I am dying. I have been for a while now," Gerard nodded once in confirmation. "Unfortunately, science doesn't have a cure for cancer yet. But the supernatural does."

"Bite of an alpha." Realizing Gerard's master plan, the sheriff shook his head in disbelief. "You want me to bite you."

"What?" one of the henchmen shouted. "You can't do that."

Gerard gave the sheriff a small grin. He took a gun from his pants and—calmly and efficiently—shot both his men. He looked back at Noah. "I can do whatever I want."

Stiles had been close enough that some of the brain matter spattered him. He writhed, helpless to either scream or escape. Gerard shifted his arm until the gun pointed at Noah's son. The sheriff felt the itch in his gums and in the tips of his toes and fingers. He wanted to shift _so badly_.

Gerard smiled as if he knew Noah would lose the battle.

A panel from the back wall flew in with a metallic warble and a tiny cyclone of dusty air.

Gerard spun around, gun aimed and ready.

"Hello, Gerard."

The voice was smooth and British. The body attached to the voice was a slim, white male with sunglasses over his eyes. Noah recognized him from the description. Other people filed in with Deucalion, and the sheriff had no difficulty in identifying Kali and the twins, which meant the last one was Ennis.

"You!" Gerard spat, and he fired directly at the Alpha Pack leader.

Ennis jumped in front of Deucalion, swearing and howling as the bullet burrowed in.

The hunter turned back to Noah. "I told you not to bring your dogs with you!" Then he was shooting his gun at Stiles.

In the moment it took him to change his stance from casual to ready-to-jump, Noah already knew he was moving too slow. The bullet would hit his son, and he would kill Gerard, and everything he believed in himself would die.

Except Derek was there. Doing exactly what Ennis had done for Deucalion, except Derek didn't swear. He just let out a little grunt as he was hit. Stiles shouted behind his gag and squirmed inside his chains, but he could do nothing.

Gerard didn't have the chance for a second shot. Noah was already there, wrenching the weapon from the old man's grasp and tossing it to the side. He twisted Gerard's arm up behind his back—not too much pressure, but enough to take him to the ground. Noah just needed to keep the hunter immobile. "I need handcuffs," he said loudly, hoping they'd be able to hear him at field command.

Deucalion nodded towards Derek and Stiles. The twins shifted to obey.

The Alpha of the Alpha Pack stepped forward, easily avoiding the debris both new and old, despite the sunglasses and white cane. "That won't be necessary, sheriff."

There was a tone in the man's voice that had all of Noah's hackles rising. "You're right," he said. "I brought zip-ties." He matched deed to words and grabbed a heavy tie from his cargo pocket. Beneath him, Gerard squirmed and shouted. Noah had one knee pressed in the center of his back. He leaned on it a little harder. It only took a moment to have Gerard quiet, and his wrists secure.

"All you have to do is leave, and all your problems will disappear," Deucalion crooned.

"That doesn't sound exactly legal," he replied, lifting Gerard to his feet and marching him to the post that had recently kept his boy secure. The twin werewolves had broken the chain and Stiles was leaning over Derek, using a cellphone to light up Derek's injury. He was holding himself carefully, but not as if seriously injured—bruises rather than broken bones or internal bleeding.

"How's Derek?" he asked as he dragged Gerard to one of the heavy worktables.

"I'm fine," Derek ground out.

"Not great," Stiles answered more truthfully. "Grandpa used a wolfsbane bullet."

Deucalion gave a dramatic shudder. "Barbaric."

"I can fix him," Stiles continued. "I just need a bullet with the same kind of wolfsbane."

The sheriff looked at one of the twins and nodded at a dark corner of the shack. "I tossed his gun over there." The twin looked confused, wondering why the sheriff was talking to him.

"Get it and give it to Stiles." They looked between Noah and Deucalion. Deucalion didn't even glance at them, so one of the boys scuttled over to the gun.

Noah looked at the leader of the Alpha Pack. "Once he's done Derek, he can treat your man. Ennis, was it?" The sheriff didn't care if there was a hint of censure in his voice. It was telling that Deucalion hadn't acknowledged the wolf who'd taken a bullet for him.

A corner of Deucalion's lips turned up, acknowledging the rebuke, but not caring. "Ethan will take care of Ennis."

The young alpha next to Stiles looked surprised and scared. From that look alone, Noah figured Ethan and his brother had the least power amongst the alphas. They probably weren't put in charge of much, and he would guess that the penalties for doing something wrong were unpleasant.

Noah didn't want to have his hands full of Gerard if it came down to a confrontation between him and the other alpha. He grabbed the chain dangling from the crossbeam, wrapped it around Gerard a couple times, and used another zip-tie to secure him to the worktable. It wasn't great, but hopefully it wouldn't have to hold him for long. His people should already be heading in.

The sheriff straightened, hands automatically lifted to adjust his belt—which wasn't there. Turning his back on the old threat, he faced the new. "Now, Mr. Deucalion—"

"Just Deucalion." Kali, still standing beside the Alpha Pack leader sneered at him. She didn't need fangs to make it threatening.

The sheriff ignored the teeth and walked forward, hand out to shake. "We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Noah Stilinski, Sheriff of Beacon County."

"I know who you are," Deucalion said dismissively. Noah let his hand drop.

"The thing is, Deucalion, Kali—" He nodded at the female alpha. "None of you have done anything against the law, as of yet, so I've got no reason to detain you or interfere in your business—"

"Then you'll step aside," Deucalion smiled.

The sheriff shook his head a little. "I can't let you commit a felony."

"It wouldn't be a felony," Kali growled. "It would be justice."

"Vigilante justice is still a felony."

"Do you know how many of us he has killed," Deucalion asked. "Without hesitation or remorse?"

"If he's like his daughter, I imagine the total is quite high," the sheriff agreed. "However, considering the rumors around how you all formed the Alpha Pack, I don't think you're in any position to demand his execution." From his corner, Gerard yelled that they were all "murdering animals".

Deucalion opened his mouth to make some remark back, but Noah lifted his finger. "One sec." He pulled Astiago's phone from his pocket and called Tara who was working field command.

"You had a _phone_ in your pocket? Knowing my terms, knowing I wouldn't hesitate!" Gerard was outraged.

"First rule of survival," Stiles repeated. "Be prepared and have backup."

"How does it feel to know your _father_ values his job more than you?" Argent spat at Stiles. The sheriff turned his head in time to catch Stiles rolling his eyes. His son noticed him watching and gave him a thumb's up.

Stiles understood. It shouldn't have been so relief-inducing, but it was.

" _Sheriff,_ " Tara Graeme's voice was filled with relief. The call hissed and crackled, and she sounded like she was in South America rather than at the office on Joonas Road, but it was still a connection.

There was thick, blue-ish smoke rising from Derek's wound. He'd have to ask Stiles about it later. "Hey, Graeme. How long until my back-up arrives?"

"-ey _headed out near- -ifteen min- ago._ "

Fifteen minutes. The sheriff did some quick calculations in his head. The old moonshine still was purposefully remote, with only the one track in or out. His people would be carrying gear over rough terrain. Maybe another ten minutes for the first wave to reach him.

"Let them know that Argent and his men are no longer a threat," he said. "However, there are new actors on location, and they're enhanced."

" _Copy -at, Sheriff_." Now she sounded worried.

"So far, we're just talking. I'll try to keep it that way."

" _I'll lea- - line open, - monitor unt- battery goes,_ " she said.

"Copy that." It was sweet that she was going to keep listening, but he doubted that she'd be able to hear anything. Still... He made sure to lock the screen before putting it in his shirt pocket. That way he wouldn't accidentally end the call.

"You _are_ resourceful," Deucalion said. It was almost a compliment. Or would've been if the werewolf hadn't sounded so surprised. "But if you think one barely functioning cell phone will stop me..." Deucalion tipped his head, and Kali stretched out her claws.

The sheriff let out a sigh. He shook his head sadly, as he took stock of what he was facing. Derek was shaky, but on his feet. He was sticking close to Stiles, which Noah appreciated.

Ennis was still down, but Ethan and his brother were breaking open a bullet, which had something to do with the wolfsbane cure, so he could be up in no time. He was an alpha, so he'd probably recover faster, but he'd still be shaky for a bit. That left Kali and Deucalion as his current primary opposition.

"As I said before, I can't let you commit a felony. I can assure you, however, that considering he shot two of his people in front of me, while I was recording, he is facing serious charges—"

"Do you really think having him locked up will be suitable recompense for _this_!" Deucalion ripped off his sunglasses revealing burned-out pits where his eyes should have been. It was brutal and ugly and one of the worst things the sheriff had seen. IEDs and mortars would tear your body apart, but they were random, untargeted. Deucalion's eyes had been completely personal.

The sheriff's heart rate jumped as he realized he was unlikely to be able to negotiate or trick his way out of this one. And that his people, as heavily armed as they would be, were probably no match for five angry alphas with a grudge.

"You were a fool!" Gerard sneered from his seat under the table. "As if we'd treat with _dogs_."

Both the sheriff and Deucalion ignored the hunter. Stiles, however, wasn't as discreet. "Wow," he said. "You really _are_ a racist dick."

Noah flinched internally. It was the right sentiment, but he really didn't need his all-too-human son calling attention to himself. He wanted to order Stiles to leave, to run away and find the team of police that were approaching. Anything, to keep him safe. Noah contained himself to a mild "Language, Stiles."

To Deucalion he said, "I'm sorry for what happened to you. If you want to press charges, we would be happy to take your statement."

" _Press charges_?" both Deucalion and Gerard said in response, but where Gerard's shout was one of disbelief, Deucalion's was edging into furious.

The sheriff shifted his stance, bringing his hands down off his waist but keeping it open. "What he did was assault, possibly attempted manslaughter—"

"He's not a man! And I wasn't trying to kill him," Gerard shouted, not helping the situation any.

Again, Noah ignored him. "As he's essentially admitted to the assault, and considering the other crimes he's committed today, I'm pretty confident the county prosecutor will be able to make a case for you." His hands were clammy. His senses had sharpened enough to hear the trees outside moving in the light breeze.

'C'mon,' the sheriff wished without hope. 'Go for the deal.'

"We don't want the Argents _in_ _jail_ ," Ennis said with a laugh. The alpha was climbing slowly to his feet, moving as if every joint hurt, but unfortunately, he _was_ moving. The twins were standing behind him—standing quite a ways back from him, actually. Wasn't _that_ interesting.

"I remember you," the sheriff said to Ennis. "Eight years ago, at the morgue." The guy had been so angry, so desperate to see his beta, that nothing else really mattered. Noah hadn't understood the sheer _loss_ Ennis had experienced. He had a better idea now.

"You didn't let me see him."

"I know," Noah said sympathetically. "I'm sorry for that."

Ennis looked stunned, maybe lost in his memories.

Deucalion frowned. "You have nothing to apologize for," he said to Noah. "However, the man who killed Ennis' packmate is here. And you, Sheriff, are keeping us from him." It toughened Ennis' resolve, and he resumed glaring at the sheriff.

"Still not moving," the sheriff stated softly.

"Dad…" Stiles said, voice worried.

"Go ahead," Gerard said with a cackle. "Destroy each other. And don't forget this interfering kid, too."

"Dude! Did you just quote Scooby-Doo?" Stiles asked, horrified.

"Apt," Deucalion said. "In the Scooby mysteries, the monster is always revealed to be human."

"I'm not defending his actions," Noah pointed out.

Kali took a step closer. "But you are defending _him_."

The sheriff's hands lifted to his waist, landing where his holster usually rested on one side, and his pepper spray on the other. There was nothing there now. Dammit again. "I took an oath. Unlike some, I take it seriously."

Deucalion laughed. Kali and Ennis smiled the same mocking smile.

Beside his son, Derek shifted uneasily. "Sheriff..."

Deucalion tucked his sunglasses into an inner pocket of his jacket. "Do you really think you can take on us? Can take _me on_?" He folded his cane. "You. Without your pathetic human weapons." He twisted his neck around until it cracked. His features began to change—hollowing out, darkening. "You. A brand-new alpha with no pack against the _Demon Wolf_?" Deucalion's eyes—his _missing_ eyes—gleamed red in the darkness that was his burned-out sockets.


	12. Light Shines Brightest During Explosions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison keeps moving; Sheriff Stilinski doesn't flinch; Derek takes a stand; and Chris finds working with cops uncomfortable.

Chris wasn't used to moving so slow on a hunt, but Lieutenant Bungalon was in charge and he was taking orders from field command, and the orders were that the situation had turned volatile with the arrival of the Alpha Pack, and they were to approach with "due care and caution".

It made Chris want to scream that care and caution were _not_ the way to deal with either his father _or_ werewolves.

His father...

Chris swallowed a bitter laugh. How could he claim a relationship with a person he knew so little? Never had he thought his old man would want, would _scheme_ , to get bitten by an alpha werewolf. Although, cancer _was_ an ugly death...

No. There was no excuse. Nothing excused the depth of Gerard's hypocrisy.

If the sheriff had any problems shooting an old man, Chris might just be up to doing it himself.

-o0o-

"Saying 'it's that way' _still_ isn't helpful," Lydia said.

They were on a dirt road, barely a lane-and-a-half wide, there were no streetlights, no signs, and Allison's GPS program couldn't help them this far into the forest. They were relying on Scott in the backseat, on his pack connection to the sheriff, but he was pointing at unbroken lines of forest saying it was "over there".

"Just look for a road heading left," Scott said. Again. Not helpful.

The road was dirt and terrible, and Lydia was going slow to minimize damage to her car. There had to be some kind of cross road sometime, right?

Allison squinted past the glare of the falling sun. Was it...? "There," she pointed. Lydia slowed even more, turning where Allison indicated.

Lydia stopped. "That's not a road. It's barely a path." Her voice was ultra-calm. It made Allison aware that there was a giant freak-out happening inside Lydia that her friend was not letting out. Well, any night that started with "Stiles has been kidnapped by my crazy grandfather" and ended with "By the way, werewolves are real" deserved a giant freak-out.

"My parents drove it just this morning." Had it really only been _hours?_

Lydia raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And were _they_ driving a sensible sedan? I don't think so."

The back door opened, but Scott paused when they both looked at him. "We're _really_ close," he said. "I can run there, and you two can stay here where it's safe."

 _Both_ Lydia's brows went up. "'Where it's safe', is it?"

For a second, Allison thought Scott would be cowed by Lydia's disdain. Not this time. Instead, his eyes glowed gold. "Yeah. At least I have weapons for a fight." His voice was growlier than normal. It froze her and Lydia in their seats.

Then he stepped out of the car. He was gone in moments, running faster than any human could.

The inside of the car was quiet.

"It certainly explains his _vast_ improvement in lacrosse," Lydia commented, still looking out the window where they'd last seen Scott.

"He used to suffer from asthma," Allison said.

Lydia hummed neutrally. "A part of me is really freaked out by all this," she said. "That part thinks that staying here—or even going back to town—is really what we ought to be doing right now."

Allison kept looking out the windshield, watching Lydia only out of the corner of her eyes. "And the other part?"

There was a huff beside her, so Allison turned to look fully at her friend. Lydia put her hand on the gearshift and glared at Allison. "I am _not '_ The Little Woman'."

Lydia didn't slam her foot on the gas or anything else equally dramatic, but she did start them moving forward into the dark, unknown forest.

-o0o-

Deucalion had _grown back his burned-out eyes_. What the ...

Fucking _Demon Wolf_ , Noah realized.

Noah didn't want to know what else Deucalion could do, but as he readied himself to fight the other alpha, he figured he was about to find out. Growing back eyeballs. _Jeezus!_

Derek growled, low and deep.

"I'm sorry," Deucalion chuckled. "You have _one_ pack member."

"Two," Stiles said firmly. "Well, three if you count mmph—" A quick look showed Noah that Derek had covered Stiles' mouth before he could out Scott as a werewolf.

"Two pathetic betas and a human." Kali wasn't impressed.

"And nearly 800 deputies, officers and civilian staff." The sheriff flexed his fingers, feeling his claws just beneath the surface. "Don't forget them."

"They're not pack," Kali sneered.

Noah wiggled his jaw. "Sure they are. We train together, fight together. Bleed and grieve together. And a bunch of them are on their way here to save my son and back me up. What have you got?" He lifted his hand and was pleased that it was still fully human. "One vengeance-crazed super-wolf—yes I've noticed your creepy eyes," he said with a nod at the Alpha Pack leader. "Two young people in a bad situation that's still better than what they had before." The twins shifted away, staying close to each other.

The sheriff turned back to Kali and Ennis, still flanking Deucalion. "And you two: letting your anger overwhelm your discipline, your humanity."

"We don't need humanity," Ennis snarled. "We're _werewolves_."

With that Ennis leaped nearly six-feet straight towards the sheriff. Without thinking, the sheriff raised his hands. He caught the big alpha. He let the momentum turn him. Then, instead of a little boost that would carry Ennis past him, he tossed the big werewolf through the wall, _and_ _exploded a tree on the other side_.

"Holy shit," Stiles whispered in awe. The remaining walls shook and groaned. Dirt and rust filled the air.

Kali screamed and charged.

Despite the ferocious start, she attacked with more finesse than Ennis had. She'd obviously had some martial arts training, because she used leverage as well as supernatural strength to toss him up into a rafter. The hard wood cracked across his spine and it hurt, but it didn't stop him from landing as if it hadn't.

She kicked out with her ridiculously long toenails, precisely aimed strikes that would've looked fantastic in a movie. Noah appreciated them less when they were aimed at _him_.

Noah dodged and blocked, slowly relearning the rhythm of hand-to-hand. It had been a long time since he'd used his close-combat training in actual combat. His safety vest didn't help. It was constricting and he couldn't twist his body the way he needed to. He forced himself to adjust his moves.

She landed a solid kick to his chest. He slid backwards, but she stopped and stared. "You have _armor_."

Noah huffed out a breath, shaking off the pain. "I'm a cop," he said. "It's part of the uniform."

"Yeah, Dad!" Stiles shouted.

She'd backed away, prowling around him and regrouping. When Noah winced at his son's shout, her eyes flicked to him. "Get the fucking kid!" Kali shouted at the twins.

"He's got no part of this," Noah growled at her. He felt the rage rising inside him.

She smiled triumphantly, like she'd found his weakness. "I think he's key."

"I've got Gerard's gun, bitch," Stiles said from behind Derek.

Noah knew his own wolf features were fully visible. "You," he said. "Are not touching _my son._ "

In the corner of his eye, the sheriff saw Derek wolf out. He heard the beta roar a challenge.

 _Damn_ the vest and damn proper form!

Army training, police training, too much Mortal Kombat with his son: all the moves merged in his mind into a fierce determination. That woman was not touching his son. If Kali put her weight on her back leg, he swept it. If she left an opening over her kidneys, he hit it. He caught her foot and used her momentum to flip her. Over and over.

The longer they fought, the easier it got. It was as if she was moving slower and slower as the fight dragged on.

"Jesus, Dad." This time Stiles' voice was filled with awe.

Noah heard noise behind him, from outside. Ennis was back up.

He gave Kali solid hit on her sternum. He felt something crack before she flew across the shed, through the old equipment and into the wall.

Ennis tackled him before he could turn completely. He tucked himself as much as he could and dragged Ennis into a roll with him.

On the ground, he twisted and got his arm around the alpha's neck. Ennis bucked, and scrabbled at the arm encircling his neck. It hurt more doing this to someone who had claws instead of fingernails, but the sheriff hung on.

"Stand down," Noah muttered. A request. Ennis ignored him.

He hung on, tightening his grip.

He could do this, he thought as the alpha's struggles weakened. Just a minute more…

When Deucalion slashed his cane at him, he couldn't duck.

-o0o-

Despite the order from Kali, the twins didn't move. They were weak alphas, and one of them was still recovering from the wolfsbane-laced bullet, and the sheriff's description of them had shaken them. Derek didn't ignore them, but he kept most of his attention on the main fight between Kali and Sheriff Stilinski.

Derek had never seen anyone move like the sheriff outside of film. It was like Bullet Time from _The Matrix_. Well, not really but it was the closest analogy he could think of. The sheriff dodged almost before Kali moved. He hit before she had a chance to block. It was mesmerizing.

He was so focused on the sheriff and Kali that Ennis jumping back into the fight startled him. He took a step forward, but Sheriff Stilinski twisted before they hit the ground and somehow ended up with Ennis in front of him, his arm around Ennis' neck in a choke lock.

How the _hell_?

In the corner, Kali groaned—she wouldn't be down for long. In front of them, Deucalion looked pissed—not long until he joined the fight.

Beside him, the twins took another step back.

"Are you repudiating your pack?" Derek asked. It was a formal question. If they answered yes, it would break their bond with Deucalion, and weaken the other Alpha Pack alphas.

Aiden glared at him. "Why do you care? Stilinski isn't your alpha. That's what you said in the car." The tone was one of nasty mockery, but unlike on the drive to the forest, Derek didn't feel defensive or embarrassed. Instead, he felt clear.

"He's a good man, unlike your piece-of-crap packmates," he said seriously. "If he ever asks, I'll accept him as my alpha."

It was a thread, not a rope, not as strong as he'd felt with his mother, but somehow purer than his bond had been with his sister—tainted as that had been by his guilt over Kate. Derek felt larger, and stronger, and more planted in his soul than he'd felt since the death of his family. He could feel the sheriff's fierce certainty that he _would_ win this, and he felt that confidence in his bones.

It wasn't just Stilinski, either. He could sense Stiles behind him, not just sheltering but also keeping an eye on the twins and Gerard, making sure nothing came at them from behind. Beyond the still, he could feel the deputies Stilinski had mentioned, maybe five minutes out and moving steadily closer.

Then, even further out, was Scott, heading their way. Derek's impression of him was much clearer than the ones he gotten from the Beacon County deputies. So clear, he could tell that Scott was clutching his chest as he adjusted to the addition of Derek to the pack. Scott wasn't overjoyed to feel him in the pack bond, and all Derek could do was smirk.

" _Shit_ ," Ethan said. It wasn't fear, but awe. He looked at his brother and the two of the held a whole conversation with eyebrow twitches and tiny shoulder shrugs.

"Do you repudiate your pack?" Derek asked again. More urgently this time, though—Deucalion had attacked the sheriff and Kali was picking herself up.

A final look. A tiny nod. "We have no pack."

Gerard laughed. "Turning on each other, just like the animals you are." They ignored the hunter.

"You can leave," Derek offered them. "But if you stay, you fight for us." He didn't have the right to offer the two alphas a place in the sheriff's pack, but he could make the rules clear.

They didn't have a chance to answer before Kali lifted herself off the floor. She roared in anger, flicked out her claws and prepared to charge back into the fight. Derek roared a challenge and jumped in front of her.

She smiled at him. "You again," she said. "This should be fun." Then she charged, still smiling.

Derek stood his ground. This time he wasn't a packless omega. This time he had his body's bulk, Stiles and Scott, and the weight of 800 deputies, officers and civilian staff behind him. This time, when Derek hit her, _she_ went flying.

-o0o-

The sheriff tucked his head in as much as he could, but the cane still caught him hard on his skull. He felt the skin split, smelled the blood— _his_ blood—but he didn't let go of Ennis.

"Stubborn, aren't you," Deucalion said. It wasn't a compliment.

"You have no idea," the sheriff said through gritted teeth. Ennis was so close to being unconscious; Noah _couldn't_ let go now. He tucked his head into Ennis' neck, hoping Deucalion wouldn't want to hit his packmate.

Deucalion didn't hit him again. Instead, he pulled the cap off the end of his cane and revealed a sharp pointed end, not unlike a javelin.

Noah prepared himself. The safety vest under his shirt protected against bullets and knife slashes, but it wasn't great with getting stabbed with thin, pointy things.

Deucalion aimed it at his exposed ribs, where his arm was lifted to brace the one across Ennis' throat. He twisted, reducing the target. He heard Deucalion shift as he thrust downward. He heard Stiles call out to him in desperate fear. He felt Ennis relax into full unconsciousness, and then impact. The vest absorbed some of the momentum, but the point of the cane penetrated. It didn't go deep, but it scraped along a rib. Not as bad as having it broken, but it still hurt like a motherfuck!

The sheriff's body tightened involuntarily, a full-body flinch. His arms squeezed, and he felt the crunch inside Ennis' throat—he'd just crushed the hyoid bone.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Deucalion chortled. "All that hard work to be non-lethal." Of course, the alpha had heard it.

"He'll heal!" Derek shouted from where he battled Kali.

"Yeah," one of the twins confirmed. "You'd have to rip his head off."

"Go ahead! Rip his head off," Gerard added. "It's what you creatures do!"

Noah ignored all of it. Whether permanent or not, Ennis was out of the fight and that's what he needed. Derek was keeping Kali busy, which left him with Deucalion, an experienced, ruthless alpha.

Deucalion thrust with his cane as if fencing at the Olympics. Noah grabbed the cane and tried to jerk it away. It pulled Deucalion closer, but it didn't rip it out of his grasp. Instead, Deucalion pushed it forward, hoping to catch him in the chest. If the sheriff _had_ been standing behind it, it would've worked. Instead, Noah let it go, stepping forward and meeting Deucalion's push with a punch to the chest, hoping the alpha's lungs would seize and he'd be forced to stop to breath.

Didn't happen, but Deucalion did go tumbling, two rolls before regained his feet.

And he'd dropped his cane.

"Do you really think you can stop _me_? _I am the_ _Demon Wolf_!" His already dark skin turned ashy grey, his mouth elongated into a small muzzle, and his eyes' glow flickered like flames. It cast weird shadows on his bone sharp cheekbones.

The sheriff examined Deucalion's stance. How his weight was firmly planted and his feet too wide. The way his breathing was ragged with anger. Unlike Kali's deadly ballet, or Ennis' WWE moves, everything about Deucalion screamed of lack of practice.

The sheriff settled into the close quarter combat stance that had been drilled into him, and that he'd practiced endlessly while in the service, and still practiced to this day. Not Kung Fu, not MMA, not boxing, but an unholy effective mix of everything his drill instructors had taught him about staying alive in the field.

"I think you use intimidation and a scary reputation to get what you want," Noah replied. "And I'd bet you never fight fair. That it's always your pack against one, maybe two, opponents. So, yes, I really do think I can stop you."

The condescending tone he used (a mirror of Deucalion's) was enough to make the other alpha charge. The sheriff let him swing and kick, blocking and dodging and circling slowly backwards, away from Stiles and Derek.

Just like with Kali, his opponent again seemed to slow down. Each move took ages to go from Deucalion's body to where Noah had been standing. Deucalion hit him less, and he hit Deucalion more. Plus, Noah's hits got more focused, and more powerful, making the other alpha stagger and whine. He couldn't quite keep hold of the Alpha Pack leader yet, but soon, he figured. He should've known it was going too well.

-o0o-

The best thing Derek could say about fighting Kali this time, was that it was taking her a lot longer to hurt him. It helped that the twins stayed back. It would've been nicer if they'd helped out.

What didn't help was Gerard Argent cackling and heckling from the sideline, as if anyone gave a damn for his opinion.

"How is he doing that?" he heard Stiles whisper.

Derek knew it was about Sheriff Stilinski, but he couldn't take his eyes off Kali long enough to check. "Is he okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, man. He's like... Neo." Stiles sounded both awed and scared.

"The size of the pack affects the abilities of its alpha," one of the twins said.

Kali leaped forward. Unfortunately, her ridiculous toenails transferred over to her shifted shape and Derek didn't dodge fast enough. He was going to have to buy a new jacket after this.

And a new shirt. and new jeans. _Christ_ , he was bleeding everywhere.

-o0o-

Chris could admire Lieutenant Bungalon's dedication to procedure. Chris could admire the precision of it, but he also fumed as Bungalon kept him from charging in.

The officer had had them all stop a suitable distance from the still. Then he took out his phone with the thermal imaging attachment and pointed it at the building where, yes, it confirmed what they already knew: seven werewolves and two humans were battling it out. The fight had taken out the sheriff's phone. It hadn't worked great, muffled and static-y from cloth and poor reception, but it had been enough to let them know his father's hostage-taking had been hijacked by the Alpha Pack

Chris lifted his rifle and rested it against a tree trunk to keep it steady. Like Bungalon's phone, it had a thermal-imaging sight. He confirmed that at least one werewolf was down, four were fighting each other, and two were standing menacingly close to the humans.

"Can we go in now?" Chris asked the lead deputy.

"Not yet. We need to get everyone into position first."

Chris loosened his jaw. He'd expected the answer. It didn't make him happy. "If one of them makes a move towards the humans..."

Bungalon nodded. "You can take them out.

-o0o-

Kali was winning.

Wanting to accepted by an alpha with a pack of 800, didn't make him part of that pack. Not yet. And it didn't replace training. Derek was bigger. She was faster. Derek was stronger. She was more precise.

Kali, blood-covered and battered, was still an alpha and he wasn't. She was recovering faster from the damage he'd inflicted on her than he was from what she'd done to him. She'd hit something in his left shoulder and now he could barely lift his arm. His knee was making similar complaints.

A second hit on the same knee and he was down and struggling to breathe through the pain—dislocated for sure, possibly broken. Kali may have _become_ monkey-nuts insane, but at some point in her life she'd had martial arts training and the lessons had stuck.

He saw her smile, watched her tear a rusty pipe from one of the abandoned machines. He tried to stand. He tried to crawl away. He tried to force his body to _heal faster_.

Failure all around.

She jumped, lifting the pipe high, getting ready to drive it through his body. He snarled defiance even as he braced for pain.

Stiles fired Gerard's gun.

It was a big gun. The sound boomed in the enclosed space, making the thin walls creak and ping.

Blood exploded out of Kali's wound, flaring bright-red as it passed through the beam of the portable work light. The force of impact changed her trajectory, pushed her sideways. He could smell the wolfsbane.

The second shot hit her high in the stomach. Less blood in the air, but more delicate organs for the wolfsbane to poison.

"Kali!" Deucalion shouted. He turned his weird eyes on Stiles and roared. It was challenge and death. Stiles looked scared, but determined. Derek couldn't do less. He fought against a beta's instinct to cringe in front of an angry alpha, and roared back. He reached down to his knee and tried to wrench it back into place.

Gerard started laughing.

"He's out!" yelled one of the twins. Everyone who could move turned towards the crazy hunter.

-o0o-

Through the scope on his rifle, Chris saw one of the over-hot werewolves shift towards a cooler human.

He called it out, and took the shot.


	13. Good Turns Don't Hit the Curb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every stand-off has to end, but what that end will be can be hard to predict. Especially when nobody ever really stays out of the fight.

In the headlights, both paths seemed equal. They were both overgrown, barely-there tracks, and they both disappeared into tree-covered darkness. Unfortunately, both paths also seemed to go in Scott's vague 'that way' direction.

"Right now, we could kind of use Scott," Allison said. "Maybe I could call him."

"All he could tell us is where he is in relation to the shack." Lydia turned to her. "Or is there some kind of psychic link between you two? You know, because of all the knotting and stuff that dogs do." She gave Allison a too-bright smile.

Allison looked at her friend in disbelief. There was some light from the dashboard, but it didn't illuminate Lydia's features much. She couldn't tell if Lydia had been serious or teasing.

Because Lydia was her friend, she chose to go with teasing. "He's not a dog. And this isn't a kink fic."

"No knotting?" Lydia whined with an exaggerated pout.

Allison decided that, since Lydia _was_ her friend, she'd take the comment like a joke. She gave Lydia a saintly smile. "If you'd been with Aiden, you'd know."

"Oo, touché." Lydia's eyebrow rose in appreciation. "We were thaaat close…" she said with a smile and a laugh. Then both fell away. "I can't believe—"

"Don't think of it," Allison cut off Lydia's self-recrimination. "Aiden was cute, and he liked you."

"He wasn't just using me?" There was vulnerability in the question, so Allison was careful how she answered.

"Only for sex."

She managed to keep her expression serious as Lydia screeched in mock outrage and hit her.

"Your face," Allison said giggling.

"I can't believe you said that," but Lydia was laughing, so it was okay.

When they finally stopped giggling, they were still in the middle of the Preserve with no idea which way to go.

It was weird. Beacon Hills, the town, wasn't big, and there weren't many places in the county that were without houses and yard lights, cars and the noise of people. Yet, they'd driven barely 30 minutes from the center of town and there was nothing around them but trees and wild things.

"Maybe I can hook up to his phone's GPS. Track him that way." Allison pulled out her cell. The screen was bright compared to the forest-covered darkness they'd been driving in, and she had to squint for a moment to let her eyes adjust. It wasn't even 9 o'clock, she noticed. So weird.

With a shake of her head, she refocused on her task—find Scott.

There were no bars. There wasn't even the little 'R' for roaming. In fact, even her weather app didn't know where she was. She dropped her hand into her lap. "Nope."

She sat beside Lydia. They didn't even have the music on, so it was quiet except for the hum of the motor.

"Do we go back?" Allison didn't want to. "What if he gets hurt? I mean, I know the police are there, and everything, but what if someone dies?" It wouldn't be her fault, not legally, but she'd known her grandfather was a bad man, that he needed to leave her family, leave Beacon Hills, but she hadn't pushed the issue. Too scared of upsetting her parents and making her mother angry with her.

There was no response from Lydia. Allison turned to look.

Her friend sat staring out the window, unblinking.

"Lydia?" she asked softly.

Nothing.

"Lydia." This time she said it firmly. She even gave her friend a poke.

Lydia jerked in her seat, blinking rapidly as if to make up for what she'd missed.

Allison sighed. "I think we should go back."

Lydia still had no expression when she said, "I think we should go left."

Allison looked at the two tracks to see if she'd missed some sign. There was nothing. "Why?"

Lydia finally looked at her. "Just a feeling."

She put the car into drive and they crawled onto the left-hand path chasing the darkness.

-o0o-

It went from not great to disaster in moments.

First, one of the twins yelled a warning about Argent even as his brother moved to recapture him.

Then there was a small pop that was easily recognizable as a high-end sniper rifle, and the brother went down. The smell of wolfsbane curled into the corner making all the wolves flinch. The twin could already be dead, or he might not be. The sheriff had to end this, and soon, so they could treat the boy. Except…

Gerard had his son by the throat.

In a room full of werewolves wanting to rend him into atoms, the bastard had grabbed _his son_ and was threatening him with the gun.

"You should have searched me more carefully, _Sheriff_ ," Gerard said with a smirk.

"Yes, I should have." It was hard to form the words with his wolfish mouth.

Gerard settled his hold on Stiles more comfortably. "Now, finish _them_ —" He lifted his chin, indicating Deucalion and Kali. "And then we can conclude our business."

"This isn't a video game, Gerard. I'm not here to finish anyone," he said with forced patience. "This doesn't have to end in death."

"Are you still planning to arrest him?" Deucalion asked with a disbelieving laugh. His features blurred back to mostly-human.

"That is still the preferred option, yes," the sheriff said. He didn't take his eyes off Argent—didn't need to. He could feel where the other werewolves were. He could hear them breathing (Ennis was getting close to consciousness).

Noah could also feel his SWAT team outside—ten deputies just waiting for a sign. "While we've been fighting in here, my people have moved into position around the building." He nodded at the downed twin. "They are willing to fire."

"And shoot the wrong people!" Kali shouted.

The sheriff nodded, still calm. "That's what happens in stand-offs like these. People get hurt."

Gerard raised his hand to Stiles' cheek. "Well, maybe I should start by removing one of your boy's pretty little eyes. It looks so good on Deucalion."

-o0o-

Chris had saved Stiles from the werewolf, but not from his father. From what he could see through the scope, Gerard had grabbed the boy, and was holding him boy by the neck. It would be so easy for Gerard to kill the boy, and everything the Argents were supposed to stand for would be forever ruined. Right now, everyone in the shed was frozen. It wouldn't last.

"We need to go in," he urged.

"We need a sign," Deputy Bungalon said.

"We _got_ a fucking sign," Chris growled. "My father grabbing the sheriff's son. Make no mistake, Gerard _will_ kill Stiles if it gets him what he wants."

"If we go in shooting, people will get hurt."

Chris felt like screaming! He pushed the impulse down and away. "Most of the people in that building can take a helluva lot more damage that you can dish out. Believe me on that," he said calmly. "I'll take care of my father. You can handle the rest."

It didn't look like the SWAT Team Leader would agree, and Chris was _this close_ to going in without them, when they all heard Stiles cry out. After that, there was no hesitation.

-o0o-

Derek was distracted by Gerard Argent and his psychotic stupidity. It was as if he wanted to die, but Derek didn't think that was right. The old hunter was putrid with sickness, yet he was fighting the sheriff, fighting them all. There had to be a reason…

Unfortunately, he let himself forget that the hunter wasn't the only threat in the building.

"Derek!" Stiles' voice was strangled.

He had only moments to turn and see Kali behind him. She was bloody and she was hurting, but her eyes were crazy with rage.

The pipe she held aloft descended, finishing what she'd started before being shot.

In the moment before impact, Derek finally remembered his mother's scent: rosewood and Ceylon tea.

Then there was nothing but pain.

-o0o-

"Jesus _Christ,_ " Bungalon said. It was a prayer; it was disbelief. The infrared readers weren't detailed but they could see enough.

"Can we go in _now_?" It wasn't really a question, and Chris was already picking up his gear.

Deputy Bungalon nodded and gave the order over the radio. "Slow, controlled," he said. "I don't want anybody tripping over a tree branch." Not a bad command, Chris reflected. This was an unfriendly part of the woods—probably why the Hales had picked it for their bootleg operation so long ago.

Still there was slow, and then there was practically immobile.

"You know the werewolves can probably hear us already," he pointed out.

Bungalon didn't even look at him. "This is the first time we've been up against werewolves, Mr. Argent," he said. "Forgive us for falling back on our training so that our nerves don't overwhelm us."

Chris looked at the senior deputy. Did Stilinski teach _all_ his people that dust-dry, don't-give-a-shit, delivery? He'd gotten it from the people who manned the desk, and now from the SWAT Team Leader. It was completely polite, and yet completely 'fuck off' as well.

He'd be impressed if it wasn't so annoying.

-o0o-

Noah was aware that Gerard was capable of following through on his threat, and that Derek and the one twin were seriously—maybe fatally—hurt. He was certainly aware that he was losing control of this whole situation, himself included. If there was a level beyond Pissed Off Alpha, he was fast approaching it, and that wasn't going to do anyone any good, especially not his son.

He refused to let it happen.

Sheriff Stilinski swallowed down the territorial rage that demanded he _act now_! He forced his claws and teeth back inside him. He shifted his shoulders and pretended he could feel the weight of his service belt on his hips. He was still the Sheriff of Beacon Hills County, and he'd be _damned_ before a couple of grandiose assholes took that from him.

For some reason, Deucalion took a step away from him, and that made Gerard narrow his eyes at Noah and tighten his grip on Stiles.

A small stretch of his neck, and the sheriff felt more like himself. Ready to handle this situation properly.

"What do you hope to gain?" he asked Gerard. "Even if I kill Deucalion and Kali—"

Kali yelled a rude denial. He didn't look directly at her, but he saw that she didn't shift from her spot next to the pipe. She might even be using it to stay upright. Stiles had shot her twice with Gerard's gun, and it had been loaded with wolfsbane bullets. Since the hunter probably intended to kill Noah after this showdown, he'd probably used the strongest aconite he could get.

"What do you hope to gain, Mr. Argent?" Noah asked again. Personally, he thought it was hopeless—

Deucalion laughed. "He's not going to gain anything. There's too many of us, and only one of him." Noah sighed as Deucalion undercut basic hostage negotiation: never suggest that the hostage taker has no options.

-o0o-

In the end, Bungalon took Chris and four of the other nine SWAT team members into the decrepit building. Three went around to an old opening in the back—a couple of the tins sheets were missing—and the rest of them entered through the front. It was surprisingly easy to slip in the place, considering there were apparently seven werewolves inside, but they were all too engrossed in the battle of wills between Sheriff Stilinski and his father. His father who, indeed, was holding a gun to Stiles' head.

It was beyond a mere violation of the Code.

"What do you hope to gain?" The sheriff asked Gerard.

There was enough light from the large open entrance to see pockets of dust, kicked up by the fights, or maybe knocked off the unstable roof, drifting in small clouds. The shack groaned, as if unable to handle the tension.

Surprisingly, the sheriff still looked completely human. It was remarkable in that Chris had never heard of an Alpha gaining that much control over the werewolf's animal instincts in such a short time. It was _especially_ remarkable considering his son was being threatened right in front of him.

He missed whatever Deucalion said that had the sheriff tensing up, but no claws came out. Instead, Stilinski raised his hands to his hip. They slipped a bit, as if he'd automatically placed them over a belt he wasn't wearing, but other than that, the sheriff showed no sign of being nervous or unsettled in any way.

Maybe it was a cop thing...

"If you surrender, drop your weapon and sit down on the floor," the sheriff said. "The Beacon Hills Sheriff's Office will take you into custody, and you can continue treatment for your cancer."

"Over my dead body," the Alpha Pack leader growled.

Gerard ignored Deucalion. "I've _been_ receiving treatment. Six months. _Six months_ before I'm completely incapacitated—bed-ridden, and helpless. Being fed through a tube. _Shitting_ through one." He stopped, glaring at Noah. "One bite and it'll never happen."

It was perfectly logical. And completely horrifying.

Chris couldn't help himself. He stepped forward, into the dim light cast by battery-powered work lights, vibrating with fury. " _That's_ why you did this?" he demanded. "That's why you endangered the rest of your family?"

Gerard gave him a twisted smile. "Son, I'd kill you if it would ensure my survival."

Chris believed him.

Icy stone breathlessness radiated out to every part of him. He had to shift feet he could barely feel in order to stay upright.

However, he was trained to work through shock (and whatever this was that was beyond shock). Chris lifted his chin.

He saw Bungalon signaling to the sheriff, and the sheriff twitched his fingers in response. The SWAT team was fanning out, taking cover in the darker edges of the building. Were they planning on shooting his father? Chris couldn't bring himself to care. There were a lot of darker edges, but they wouldn't slow the werewolves down any once they shifted. He reminded himself that werewolves weren't the enemy here.

"You broke the Code," he half-shouted, keeping his father's attention on him. "You kidnapped a kid—an innocent."

"He's hardly innocent," Gerard said. "He hangs out with monsters."

 _"_ _You_ are the monster," Chris said, he looked at his father, hoping for a human reaction.

Gerard's lips lifted in a small smile. "Not yet," he crooned with smug triumph.

It made Chris want to punch his father for being exactly what Allison had accused them of. He couldn't, of course. Gerard was over there with Stiles helpless in his grasp, and Chris was stuck over here.

"He's a total psycho—" Gerard's arm squeezed Stiles' neck. "—path," the kid finished, croaking out the last syllable.

The kid was right.

By expressing a desire to be turned into a werewolf, Gerard had completely disavowed his rights as a human under the Code. Which meant Chris could kill him. No Hunter would think worse of him for doing it. In fact, if he was to salvage Silver Bullet Security's relationship with the law enforcement community, he _had_ to do it.

Could he do it?

-o0o-

The sheriff was aware of his people spreading out around the area, carefully picking locations that would allow crossfire and total coverage of the space. Two of them had dragged the wounded twin further away from the main confrontation, but they couldn't reach Derek, who was bleeding out around the pole that impaled him. At the main entrance, he could hear Chris Argent's heart hammering as the man realized what his father had become. It was no faster than his son's fear-induced heartbeat.

In the corner, Ennis stirred. The alpha wolf rolled onto his side, coughing softly.

Gerard nodded in the downed Alpha's direction. "You should start with him, _Sheriff_ , before he can defend himself."

"I'll kill you myself!" Kali screamed at Gerard. She ripped the pole out of Derek's body and threw it at him. Blood—Derek's blood—flew out from it spreading raggedly behind it. Derek fell over, silently curling up around his stomach.

"Foolish bitch," the hunter laughed, even as Derek's blood, fanning out from the pole in a ragged stream, hit his face. Gerard shifted to avoid the impromptu spear, which flew by them and into one of the support posts. It hit hard enough to shake the building.

In his arms, Stiles jerked away from the spray in horror, unbalancing Gerard a little. It was enough to loosen his grip on Stiles.

Not much, but enough?

It had to be...

"Stiles, _drop_!" Noah ordered. He put the full weight of being a father, a cop and an alpha into his voice, enough to break through to his panicking son.

A lot of the people in the building crouched lower in response, cops and werewolves alike. The sheriff didn't worry about them. What was important was that Stiles let himself go limp and slipped out of Gerard's hold. He flopped onto the floor and started frantically rolling away.

Gerard lifted the gun in Stiles' direction...

Noah's claws came out as he jumped in front of his son. He roared a challenge as he flew...

Chris Argent shot his father.

It was a good shot, a head shot.

Bungalon's went through the heart less than a second later.

"Are those brains?" Stiles muttered in horror. "Oh shit. Now I've got brains on me, too. Oh god."

He landed and let his heightened senses assess Stiles' condition, (physically okay. They'd deal with the rest later) before turning his attention back to the others in the old still.

The noise of the guns seemed to have brought Ennis fully back to the living. The sheriff had to ignore him for now, because Deucalion was expanding. His lupine features were becoming more defined as his humanity receded once again. Deucalion had wanted to kill Gerard. Looked like he wasn't happy with Chris for taking that from him. "He was supposed to suffer!"

Around the edges of the building, Noah saw the SWAT team members refocus their attention on the Alpha Pack leader as the next threat. There were too many threats spread out around him.

Man, he really wanted his gun...

"I remember you! I remember your smell!" Ennis roared. "You killed my mate!"

And he jumped at Chris Argent.


	14. Laughter Isn't the Opposite of Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheriff Stilinski tries to end it but nearly loses everything. Scott's a hero (of course), and Chris has to reassess his daughter's boyfriend. Derek does his best to not be a hindrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience as RL swallowed my free time. After rereading the chapter, I've made some changes to it so you get shorter chapter this time, but a more natural place for a break. (I should have the next chapter up quicker than the last one, though, if that makes up for it.)

Chris was already lifting his gun, but the big Alpha had momentum and mass. It would take more than a handgun to change its trajectory. Chris tucked himself low, ready to roll out of the way. One of the SWAT Team—he thought it was Aggersen—stepped in front of him. Before he could yell at the guy as an idiot, Ennis landed, claws out. He dug into the deputy's body, and tossed Aggersen away. The deputy landed against a wall stud and the hit made the metal sheeting boom.

Chris couldn't see if Aggersen got up, he was too busy shooting Ennis. He aimed for center mass, but Ennis dodged, and the bullet just clipped his left arm.

Chris was going to die.

A small figure came flying through the entrance right into Ennis. "Get away from him!" Claws dug in and spun the Alpha away.

Chris straightened incredulously. The voice belonged to his daughter's goofy boyfriend, but the body belonged to a werewolf. "Scott?"

The two wolves rolled together, raising dirt and rat droppings, until Ennis got a grip on Scott and tossed him across the room. Ennis stalked towards the downed Beta. "You're protecting _him_? What kind of wolf are you?"

Scott—definitely Scott behind the teeth and gold eyes—replied, "A human one." He was back on his feet, crouched and ready to tackle Ennis again.

" _ENOUGH_ ," the sheriff roared. Everybody, even the Alpha Pack members, flinched. The old building creaked as if in agreement. One of the tin sheets that made up the roof fell, catching on the rafters.

"It is done," Stilinski stated. "Gerard Argent is dead. It's a police-involved shooting, so it's unlikely any of you _civilians_ —" He glared at each of the Alphas in turn. "—will be charged with felony murder."

"Charged?" Deucalion laughed. He hadn't reverted back to his human form and his eyes gleamed like an expensive Halloween decoration. Stilinski had balls though. He gave every indication he didn't notice how messed up Deucalion's appearance was—features like a wolf's skull, red-flame eyes, and skin as dark as death. He just kept talking as if the Alpha's opinion was secondary to his.

"As for Kali's attack on Derek, if he doesn't press charges there is no reason _any of you_ need to stay in Beacon County."

"I won't press charges if they leave," Derek groaned from his position on the ground. He was lying in a pool of his own blood, and Kali had one foot on him as if he were a trophy-hunting prize she'd taken down. From what Chris could see of her, her skin was covered in purple-black lines from the wolfsbane in her veins, but she was fighting off the effects in a way that should've been impossible.

"And never come back," Stiles added.

Deucalion ignored both of them, stepping closer to the sheriff. "Who are _you_ to order _us_ to do anything?"

The sheriff's eyes glowed red, brighter and more solid than Deucalion's flickering irises, as he stood up to the other alpha. "I am the Sheriff of Beacon County, duly elected by the five hundred thousand people who live here," he declared. He stepped forwards, crowding Deucalion— "I am part of over one _million_ men and women involved in law enforcement in the U.S.A." —one slow step at a time. "I am the Alpha of Beacon County, and I am tired of this _grandstanding bullshit_."

It wasn't a roar, wasn't as loud as his earlier shout, but it still had all the wolves—and most of the cops—crunching small. Yet, aside from the eyes, some claw, and a little extra facial hair, the sheriff looked completely human. Victoria and Gerard had _seriously_ underestimated the man.

"As I said, Deucalion. _Legally_ , you haven't broken any laws. Yet." Stilinski leaned over, close enough to be bitten, or to bite. An unspoken challenge. "Don't change that."

Deucalion swayed backwards—a half-step.

Deucalion pulled himself back, reclaiming that lost half-step, but he had already lost.

Deputy Bungalon raised his weapon, making sure everyone still alive in the shed could see it. "The next person to make a move against _our sheriff_ will be shot." The rest of the SWAT team echoed him.

-o0o-

Noah felt that acceptance right through to his spine. Hell. It felt like the ground shivered, but if anyone but him felt it, they weren't letting it show.

"You're going to let us go?" Deucalion said in disbelief, his lip lifted in a sneer. "Either you're a fool or you're _weak_."

-o0o-

Above him, Kali growled and Derek knew she was going to attack Sheriff Stilinski while he was handicapped by holding Deucalion down. Her fangs were fully extended, her claws all the way out, and she had that crazy grin that she'd had when she attacked him at his old house.

He could let it happen. He was hurt. There were cops all around and the sheriff was strong.

But he couldn't.

Ignoring the pain of doing even a limited transformation, Derek forced his claws as long as they'd go. Then he grabbed the leg Kali had placed on him—as if he were her footstool—and dug in. He used his claws to drag himself up her leg. He wrapped himself around her calf and hung on. He wanted to swear and scream as his body protested and still-healing wounds started bleeding again, but if Kali wanted to attack now, she'd have to drag him along.

It opened a memory of when he was small. Him and Cora sitting on his mother's feet as she shuffled around the house, and giggling as she made monster noises like King Kong. He breathed deep against his grief, and dug in deeper.

He'd underestimated Kali's determination. Or overestimated her sense.

" _No_ ," Kali screamed at him. "I gave up too much to get here!"

She kicked her other leg into his gut. His vision nearly blacked out as pain exploded everywhere from his eyeballs to his knees. "Let go, you stupid, little..." Kali attacked his arms with her claws, cutting deep. It would take so long for them all to heal.

Kali lifted the leg he clung to—not high, but enough to jerk him around just like his mom had done decades ago. Except Talia had done it carefully, with love. Kali didn't care what damage she did to him.

Kate hadn't cared...

Fuck Kate, Derek thought.

And fuck Kali! Neither of them gave a shit about anybody other than themselves, and he was tired of being a fucking _doormat_ for people like that.

He shouted his anger back at the alpha. He clutched harder, dug in deeper, deep enough to scrape bone, and _refused to give up again._

-o0o-

Scott—the mysterious second Beta they'd been looking for—didn't really know how to fight. He didn't have the weight or the power of Ennis. All he could do was cling, be an annoyance for a while, and then get tossed off and hurt. Again and again.

Yet he never hesitated to put himself back into danger to protect them.

To protect Chris.

-o0o-

 _"You're going to let us go?" Deucalion said in disbelief, his lip lifted in a sneer. "Either you're a fool or you're_ weak _."_

The sheriff recognized the signs of someone talking themselves into attacking. Drunks of all ages did it. Young men in groups did it. He hadn't expected it from an adult werewolf, but he wasn't unprepared physically or mentally. When Deucalion leapt at him, Noah had already loosened his control. He didn't fight the claws or the teeth. He didn't even fight the god-awful facial hair. Instead, he merged the powers and skills of the werewolf with those of a cop, combining what he'd learned from Derek with what he'd used while fighting Kali.

Deucalion didn't stand a chance.

Sidestepping easily out of Deucalion's path, he took the alpha's arm by the wrist, grabbed him by the back of the neck, and slammed him facedown into the ground. Deucalion squirmed and Noah forced the alpha's arm up at an unnatural angle.

The Demon Wolf faded from his features.

That should've been the end of the showdown. It could've been. Their leader was down—immobilized. But neither Ennis nor Kali seemed to care. Instead, Kali was snarling and Ennis was growling.

A quick glance showed Scott tackling Ennis again, and he heard Patterson muttering about how McCall had messed up her shot. McCall wasn't strong, but he was young and stubborn.

More worrying was Kali. She actually could fight. Derek had slowed her down, but she hadn't stopped. She wasn't stopping for anything: not Derek, not wolfsbane bullets. How could Noah fight her _and_ Deucalion without sacrificing any of his people?

Rage at the dilemma had his grip on the Alpha Pack leader tightening until he felt bones crunch and skin break. "Why couldn't you have _listened_?"

He wanted to kill the other alpha.

He _could_ kill the invader.

It wouldn't be hard...

-o0o-

Ennis peeled the teen off his back and threw him into Chris and Deputy Patterson, one of Stilinski's SWAT team.

Patterson seemed to be okay, but Chris landed wrong and that was a broken rib—and _fuck_ , he couldn't pass out now. He panted like a woman in labor until the weakness passed.

Scott was back on his feet, despite a limp and a bleeding head wound. He took up position between Chris and Patterson, and the Alpha. Scott was _still_ protecting the humans from Ennis. Unthinking, he jumped on Ennis' back, wrapped his legs around the Alpha's waist, and tried to either strangle Ennis or hug him to death.

"Damnit, kid. Get out of the way," muttered Patterson.

The deputy had her weapon trained on the pair as they wrestled. She blinked away the effects of having even a small werewolf thrown at her. Chris envied her resilience, even as his mind raced through the possibilities. He couldn't go over there and drag Scott off Ennis—he'd barely managed to get to his knees. He couldn't shoot at Ennis—his vision was still greying in and out, and his hands were shaky.

However, (and he was going to talk to Allison about this later) he _was_ the father of Scott's girlfriend. It had to count for something.

He took a deep breath, ignoring the way his vision dimmed at the edges as his broken rib screamed. "Scott McCall!" he shouted across the small space, putting every bit of irate father into his voice that he could manage (and considering his daughter was dating a _werewolf_ , it was a lot). "We need to talk about Allison. _Right now_!"

That made Scott freeze. It was enough for Ennis to dig the teenager off him and toss him towards the twins.

It was enough to give the SWAT team the opening they needed…

-o0o-

The enemy alpha howled. Anger. Denial. Frustration. He exulted in the enemy's defeat, but he still heard the hunter call to his beta.

-o0o-

Kali bent down, dug her claws into his spine, and his brain sheeted out to white.

A SWAT guy called, "Marshall. You, me. Open fire," and Derek hoped they were in time to save the sheriff.

-o0o-

"Go for head shots," Chris said.

"Wolfsbane bullets," the deputy grunted back, and pulled her trigger.

Pandemonium. The three SWAT members near him opened fired on Ennis, and two others on the other side of the shed, also fired their weapons.

The shed was thin, and there were holes in the walls and the roof.

It was still deafening.

-o0o-

Two shots, nearly simultaneous, hit Kali on two different sides of her head. Her claws jerked out of his spine and _everything_ came back into sharp, sharp focus _._

Reacting faster than any human, Derek tucked impossibly tighter, releasing Kali's leg to cover his head with his arms. It didn't help. The SWAT team used large caliber weapons, and Kali's head had essentially exploded right above him. His ears whined from the sound of gunfire, but he could still feel and smell Kali all over him.

He wanted to throw up.

The hole in his stomach prevented it.

-o0o-

The beta…

That was Scott. Scott was here.

If Scott was here then Stiles was around, and Stiles was important.

He was Stiles' alpha… No. His sire...

He was Stiles' _father_.

And he was a cop.

Noah was back in control of his body and his instincts.

He saw the blood where his claws had punctured the side of Deucalion's neck, and felt the grating of broken bones where he held the alpha's wrist. The werewolf would heal, but it was still excessive force.

He would feel embarrassed by his loss of control later. For now, he sensed that Kali was gone and Ennis was close to it. If he could feel it, disassociated from them as he was, how bad was it for Deucalion who'd been their alpha? It would explain the howling…

Deucalion was fighting, twisting on the ground, kicking up his feet, but Noah had been a lawman too long to be shifted. it only took moments for the sherrif to have both Deucalion's arms twisted up behind his back and zip-tied together.

The alpha didn't stop struggling, so Noah pressed more weight onto the middle of Deucalion's back, right where the diaphragm would be on the other side, compressing the rib cage and restricting his breathing. On a normal human, it would be very dangerous. Damage the diaphragm and they could die. It wasn't something the sheriff worried about with the alpha werewolf.

As Deucalion lost breath he lost power. His struggles weakened. His features reverted to human. His body went slack. The sheriff lifted his knew. He didn't want Deucalion unconscious, because he actually needed Deucalion awake for the next bit.

He opened his mouth to say the words he'd been saying for nearly two decades. What he was supposed to say when he had a perp in handcuffs. The Miranda warning. After so long, the words were beyond memorized. They were automatic. Inevitable...

"Yield."

Deucalion attempted to buck him off.

Futile.

"You will yield," Noah said through teeth that could chew through bone.

The alpha huffed. Panting, trying to get a proper breath. The sheriff let more of his weight settle back onto the alpha's spine.

"Your pack is destroyed. The target of your rage is dead. _Do you yield_?" He shifted one hand so that his claws pressed lightly on Deucalion's carotid artery.

"Yes."

It was like a popped balloon. The intensity that had surrounded the Alpha Pack leader dissipated, and somehow Noah knew that Deucalion would never again be able to assume the power of 'Demon Wolf'. He'd won, but…

He still wanted to rip Deucalion's throat out.

He'd zip-tied him, handcuffed him, and wrapped him in chains, but the sheriff knew Deucalion was right: no jail could hold him. The man might not be the Demon Wolf anymore, but he was still a werewolf, an alpha, with all the strength and powers that entailed. The only sure way was to kill him, and that was an instinct Noah was fighting hard against.

It was easier when Stiles came pelting up to him. "Dad! Dad! You okay? Oh my god, that was... _Awesome_! But scary. I mean, wow! But, _Jesus_!" Stiles stopped his babbling to stare intently at Noah. "Don't ever do that again."

"How eloquent," Deucalion sneered from his position at the sheriff's feet. Noah ignored him.

Instead, fully human inside and out, he grabbed his only-slightly-damaged son in a tight hug. Noah buried his nose in his son's neck and breathed in Stiles' scent. "Don't you get kidnapped again."

-o0o-

It was over. Kali and Ennis were dead. And Gerard, too.

Deucalion had submitted to the sheriff, and Derek had felt the power flow out of the evil alpha. It had felt weird. He couldn't remember anything like it, but it was unmistakable. It meant the sheriff was safe.

Now he could relax. He could rest.

He could shut his eyes…

Just for a minute...


	15. Stubbornness Works Almost Like Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia rules, but Sheriff Stilinski commands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I experimented when I wrote this, and didn't put in any chapter breaks. It was just one long (really long) document, and then I stuck in the breaks where it seemed logical to put them based on my event notes. 
> 
> Reading it now, before posting, I'm more interested in how the story plays out, rather than making sure my timeline works. Hence, another shortish chapter that ends in a better place than I had before. 
> 
> I hope you like it.

The building they found at the end of the track was lit it up from the inside somehow, and rays of light shone through the cracks like beacons. There was activity outside, and Allison thankfully recognized the outlines of police uniforms.

"I think we won."

"Were we at war?" Lydia asked. Before Lydia could grill Allison on that (because she and Scott hadn't actually explained _everything_ to Lydia even after the werewolf reveal) they arrived at the shed, and a deputy jumped in front of Lydia's car to stop her.

There weren't enough cops to stop Allison from jumping out of the car, and running into the shed. Inside it looked creepy. Big LEDs provided harsh slashes of blue-white light, but left large areas in darkness. It was like a suspense movie. Or, when Allison noticed the dark, wet-looking patches, it was actually, a horror.

Deputies moved with controlled urgency to those who were hurt. Allison's eyes followed them, searching for… Oh, god—those people were _dead_.

"Dad?" she called. "Scott?" It wasn't a shout. She couldn't shout. Her heart felt like it was stuttering in her chest. She could see— There was so much blood!

"Over here," she heard Scott say. She turned in that direction and saw both Scott and her father just outside one of the patches of light. Her dad (looking only a short step away from _really_ angry) held his shirt up off his back while a deputy examined his ribs.

Scott was helping, handing the deputy supplies and flinching every time her dad scowled in his direction (which was always until he turned to frown at her.) But they were alive, if gorey. Scott had _so much_ blood on him. His hands and body were _coated_ with it—but he was moving okay if a little stiff. He was a werewolf, she remembered, so he'd probably already healed any damage.

Her shoulders drooped and she let out a breath that had been sitting on her diaphragm since they left the hospital.

She rushed over to them, hopping over a wooden post that blocked her way.

Just outside the line of light, there was another body. A tall, white male with grey hair—and the jacket her grandfather had been wearing when he left the house. She couldn't take her eyes off it. That was her grandfather's body.

Was she supposed to be sad?

She forced herself to look at what was important— _who_ was important. She didn't care if her father was pissed. He was alive. And Scott was alive. She hugged Scott (because he didn't have someone bandaging him up.) "Are you okay?" she asked. "Both of you?"

Her father's wince as the medic swabbed his back, undermined his growl. "Allison, what are you doing here?"

"We wanted to help." She backed away from Scott (just a little) and looked at father. He had to know that Gerard was dead, but he only looked tired not upset.

"Who's 'we'?"

"Well, Scott, of course," she answered. "And Lydia's outside—"

A faint voice in the entrance called her name. "Allison?"

-o0o-

Once the hug had gone on long enough that Stiles reminded him that he wasn't 8-years-old anymore, Noah let him go. "Check on Derek, okay? I think he'll need a hand out."

"Sure, yeah. I can do that," Stiles said with a smile and two thumbs up. "You know me. Cool under pressure."

"Just don't faint on him," Noah responded with knowing fondness. Stiles made various 'who me?' gestures before turning around to watch where he was putting his feet. Noah took the moment to look around the shed, assessing the aftermath.

Chris Argent was injured. He hid it well, but the sheriff could see it in the way the hunter held himself. He could also see Allison Argent, and if he wasn't mistaken, that was Lydia Martin.

"Bungalon," he said to his Site Commander. "Since when do we allow civilians into crime scenes?" Bungalon looked at him. Noah nodded at the two teenage girls next to Scott.

"We'll get them out of here!" Bungalon responded. He waved at Diaz and pointed him towards the girls.

"Report, Lieutenant?" Noah listened as Bungalon gave his report, but he also heard his lieutenant's heartbeat (a little fast but steady). He nodded when Bungalon listed the injuries, but nobody had to tell him Derek was seriously hurt. The sheriff knew it in a way that went beyond having seen Kali impale him with that pipe. It was the same way he knew that Aggersen's head wound needed to be in a hospital ASAP. Patterson had a sprained ankle, Johnson had bashed his arm on something, and Scott's cracked rib and damaged knee ligaments were nearly back to 100%.

"… I think we should bring the SUVs here to the shed," Bungalon said. "We'll load the injured and take them up to the road, rather than trying to get the ambulances down here."

It was a good suggestion, so Noah nodded agreement. When Bungalon didn't move away, Noah looked at him.

The SWAT Team Leader tipped his chin down at the former leader of the Alpha Pack, tied like a cartoon character at the sheriff's feet. "What about him?"

"Yes, Sheriff. What about me?" Deucalion tilted his head towards them. No one had found his sunglasses (more accurately, no one had looked), and the blackened holes where his eyes used to be looked truly horrific even in this dim light.

"I'll keep him with me for right now," he answered. "Later, well… I'm thinking about it." Bungalon nodded and left to call the 4-wheel-drives down.

Derek was comfortable, if a little cold, before Stiles showed up. The kid forced him to roll over, to straighten out. It made Derek's whole body flash in one big pulse of pain. Even his hair follicles seemed electrified.

He opened his eyes to see Stiles, reluctantly pull back the remains of his leather jacket. When the kid saw the extent of Derek's injuries, he paled, and wobbled on his knees. "Ohmuhgod, dude! You've lost much blood. How are you still _breathing_?" Stiles may have shouted it. Derek heard a whisper.

"We won." It was all he could manage.

It didn't cheer Stiles up. He just looked worried. "I know, man. But you are seriously stabbed through the _gut_."

Even rolling his eyes would've hurt too much. Derek didn't bother.

"Come on, we need to do something."

" 'M healin'."

"But slower, right? Wounds of an alpha and all that?" He didn't stop to let Derek answer. "Although, is being stabbed by a pipe wielded by an alpha the same as being stabbed directly by one? If we're lucky it's not."

"Wasn't stabbed," Derek said. "Impaled. Geddid righ'." He didn't have to open his eyes to see Stiles' bitch face. It almost made him smile.

Then it wasn't just Stiles leaning over him, but some of the county deputies. They had bandages and water, enough for some rough first aid. He watched them cut away his jacket with regret. He'd liked this jacket. Laura had given him shit for looking like an extra from _Grease_ , but she's the one who watched the movie over and over.

Stiles' hand was warm on his wrist, and Derek thought he was monitoring his pulse. He could've told Stiles not to bother—he could hear his heart beating. Each pulse ached throughout his torso. Derek knew the pain was worth it. He'd proved… Something to the sheriff. And maybe to Chris Argent, too.

One of the sheriff's deputies brought out an IV. Derek tried to flinch away from it, tried to tell them 'no', but everything was so heavy.

Stiles saved him again. "No IVs, Hillard. He'll just heal around the needle."

"We need to get fluids into him somehow, and he can't drink." That must be Hillard, Derek thought. Defending his first aid training.

"Why not?" Stiles asked. "It missed his stomach, right?"

"Not really," said the SWAT guy cleaning his abdomen.

"But it's healing," Stiles insisted. "Oh my god, that's so gross." He must have looked.

"If you throw up on my patient, Stiles, I will swat you upside the head and then I'll tell your father _and_ Scott."

 _That_ made Derek smile.

-o0o-

"Allison?" Lydia called from the entrance. She had her arms wrapped around herself and she stood with her feet close together, as if her compactness would stop dirt and blood from ruining her clothes.

Allison turned towards the entrance. "Over here!"

That was all the invitation Lydia needed to walk into the shed like a queen entering her throne room.

Allison saw the sheriff talking to a SWAT officer and hoped he'd be too busy to notice them. Her father pulled his shirt down over the thick white bandage that had been put on his wound, and sort of scooped all of them up in his outstretched arms. "We'll talk outside."

Lydia raised her eyebrow. It was possible she would've argued, but her eye caught on something on the other side of Scott. " _Ethan_? Why are you covered in blood?" Lydia pushed past them and stopped, spotting Aiden, listless and lifeless, lying on the dirty floor. "What happened to Aiden?"

"He was shot," Ethan said. "He was trying to protect Stilinski and he was shot."

Completely heedless of the dirt and blood, Lydia knelt beside her maybe-boyfriend. Aiden's breath rasped in his throat and he barely noticed her. "He'll heal right? Because he's a werewolf."

Ethan shook his head. "They knew. They knew," he repeated. He held his twin's hand to his heart. He gripped tight. Aiden did not.

Allison turned to her father. "Dad?"

Chris looked stricken. "Right." He dug in his belt pouch. He pulled out a small box, etched with pretty flowers, and opened it. Inside were rifle bullets. "Open the bullet to get the wolfsbane. Burn it, and then stuff the ashes in the wound."

Allison raised her eyebrows. "Really? What about the actual bullet?"

He pushed her towards the twins. "The aconite poisoning is the immediate threat." Allison wasn't sure how that could be true, but she had to trust that her father knew what he was talking about. After all, it _was_ kind of his _job_. She shuddered at the thought. Every time she thought of how her family's "calling", it made her feel ill.

Sure, there had to be some non-humans that _were_ evil, that needed to be stopped, but if Allison had her way the Argents would stop pre-emptively hunting things that _could_ hurt humans and go after the things that _actually_ _were_ hurting them. Until then, she needed to try to save Aiden.

"I'm sorry, but you two can't be here." It was another deputy, with slightly more stripes than the others she could see.

Her father stepped back. "Maybe we should go," he suggested.

"We'll shift when we're finished treating Aiden," Lydia stated. She'd grabbed Aiden's other hand, and everything about her said she wasn't moving unless the twins went with them. She glared at Allison, and Allison reached out for her father's bullet.

What had he said? First, break open the bullet...

Easier said than done. Her fingers slipped on the slick metal.

Ethan held out his hand. "Here, let me. I've seen it done."

-o0o-

"Wouldn't it have been easier to just kill me?" Deucalion crooned.

It was bravado. The sheriff could feel the truth under the condescension, and that was Deucalion _wanted_ to die. Blind, packless, and submissive, there was nowhere the alpha could go in North America and not be hunted. Packs who'd suffered from his attacks, hunters looking for a prize, neither would hesitate to take advantage of Deucalion's new vulnerability.

However, one thing that the sheriff was _also_ aware of was that Deucalion didn't just want to die. He wanted Noah to kill him.

Noah had no idea why this was, and frankly, he didn't care. What _really_ concerned him was _why the hell did he know what Deucalion was feeling_?

It wasn't just Deucalion, or Scott or Derek, or the members of the SWAT Team here in the shed—he'd grown used to those. Now, however, he was somehow aware that Lassiter had cut himself trying to chop up an apple, and Gus needed to see a doctor about his knee. There were others: migraines and sprains, bruises and aching bones. All the regular hurts of nearly 800 people. He hoped that this sensitivity to his... The sensitivity to all of… Noah sighed, and gave in.

 _This sensitivity to his pack_ would settle into something a little _less_ sensitive. He didn't want to experience someone else's hemorrhoids or menstrual cramps. Not even second-hand, thank you.

He'd have to talk with Derek after the beta had a chance to heal up, but maybe, hopefully, it was like territorial awareness or controlling the transformation. Maybe, it would get better with practice. Or he'd learn to filter it all out like he'd done with Stiles' 'private time'.

Noah looked up at the nearly-full moon through the half-collapsed roof, and wondered if that was a factor. Maybe his sensitivity would reduce once the full moon passed.

One of the roof trusses swayed into view, blocking the light, and then swayed back out.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

The sheriff took a closer look at the shaky old building. The remaining panels of the roof quivered. He put a hand on one of the support beams. It trembled in the breeze.

The building was going to collapse.

-o0o-

"Can I have everyone's attention!" It was the sheriff. He barely had to raise his voice to have everyone looking at him. "I need everyone to move out of the building," he said. "Now."

-o0o-

Rolling onto his side was painful. Getting to his feet was looking to be impossible.

"Dude!"

Derek recognized the voice, but it was unimportant. "Man. What're you doing?" Stiles was next to him. Stiles was often next to him when he was injured.

"Leavin'. Orders." That was clear enough. He put his hands out and lifted, but the floor didn't get any farther from his face. Weird.

"Oh, Jesus. You really _are_ his beta. Does that make you like my step-brother?" Derek tried again to get to his feet. "Hey, no. Don't do that! We'll get you out of here."

Hands grabbed at him. He wanted to snarl that he could do it, but the hands were gentle, and familiar without him recognizing anyone specific (except for Stiles) and it was somehow okay to let them help.

"Sooo much muscle! Is it a werewolf thing? Because Scott stopped being stringy when _he_ got bit," Stiles babbled. "Wouldn't mind having some of those muscles. Don't want much else that goes with being a werewolf. No offense."

None taken. Too often, being a werewolf meant hiding. It meant lying. It meant pretending to be something he wasn't.

"Scott," the familiar voice shouted. "A little help here!"

Then he was floating. " 'm floatin'."

"Not exactly, man. We're carrying you—three of us. Waaay easier than the last time I had to lug you around."

The words flowed over Derek far more smoothly than he was floating over the ground. He had to bite back sounds of pain more than once, but he was moving.

Were they going the right way? It was getting brighter. Outside was supposed to be darker.

"Hey, Dad? Come reassure your beta that he's going in the right direction."

" _My beta_?"

Derek struggled to get closer to that voice. "Woah, Derek. Settle, dude."

"Oh."

"Yeah. You'll have to talk to him or something about it. When he's healed and, y'know. Lucid."

"Hmm," said that voice. A soft hum, so warm. Just hearing that voice shouldn't make him feel better, but it did.

"I'll think about it. For now, take him out. We've got an SUV coming in. It's going to take Aggersen first—"

"Is he okay?"

"If we can get him to a hospital, he'll be fine."

Everybody would be fine. Alpha's orders.

"We'll make sure Hale survives for the next ride out, Sheriff. Don't worry."

"Good. Now out. Get a good ways away from the building."

"Copy that."

And then Derek was floating again.

No, not floating; he was being carried. Three people were carrying him—he could feel their hands. Stiles, McCall and one of Stilinski's deputies. Derek should feel embarrassed at the show of weakness, but he was just thankful that he didn't have to use his own muscles.

-o0o-

Chris wasn't hurt enough to need help getting out of the old building, but he only had one fully-functioning arm because he was busy holding his broken rib in place. He'd be pretty useless getting any the truly injured out of the building.

The kid who'd been tossed into the stud had been bundled up in a portable neck brace and stretcher, and he was half-way out the door already. Derek was being carried out. It didn't look like he was bleeding anymore. Johnson was hopping out with the help of the lieutenant. That left Aiden, the werewolf he'd shot, as the next... person who needed moving.

Chris knew he shouldn't feel bad about shooting the kid—the werewolf. It had been justified after all. He'd thought Aiden was attacking his father and Stiles. Except, Aiden hadn't been attacking anyone.

Like Scott, the werewolf had been trying to protect a human. Someone who couldn't protect themselves against danger as well as a werewolf could. In this instance, the danger had been Chris's own father. Someone fully human.

Goddamn it! Chris hadn't felt this conflicted over hunting since he was younger than Allison.

Still, Chris did what he could, since it was the right thing to do. He'd already given Allison a wolfsbane bullet even though he felt as if generations of Argents weren't lined up behind him, watching him and disapproving.

When the sheriff told them all to leave the building, he hustled the teens out using his parental voice of authority. (It worked on Lydia, and that was enough to have the redheaded teen taking charge of moving the rest of them.) He took part of Aiden's weight when it turned out Ethan was also injured, (knee—already healing), and they all limped slowly towards the entryway.

His broken ribs grated with every step and every breath, and even if he could've caught his breath, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

 _Christ_! How far was it to the door?

Scott bounded up. "Sheriff says to hurry up," he said. Chris would have glared at the boy—werewolf—boy, but he'd already taken Aiden into a fireman's lift and ran out with him. A simple thing, but it meant they could all move much easier and quicker. He straightened thankfully. Then felt stupidly guilty for not saying thank you. Except that Scott was the second beta, and a potential enemy.

Now that he knew Scott was the second Beta, he'd have to tell Victoria. He'd tell her everything, of course. About how Scott had risked himself to protect Chris, and his age would protect him. After all, the Code had exceptions for teenagers.

 _Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent - "_ We hunt those who hunt us".

Except Scott hadn't hunted anyone. He hadn't even done any real damage to Ennis. All he'd done was to put himself between the big Alpha and Chris, again and again.

Over coffee this morning, (had it really been just this morning?) Stilinski had asked if hunters protected civilians, and Chris hadn't been able to say yes.

Chris repeated the Code with its codicils for innocents and teenagers, forcing it to fit into this situation. It just made him realize how often they didn't follow it. Not just his father or Kate, but _him_ , his aunts, his cousins and his whole damn family.

If a supernatural creature worked a steady job and paid their bills like every regular schmuck in America (barbeque and baseball on Saturday, and mortgages and college funds for their kids)... if they did all that, never attacking anyone, weren't they civilians too? That's what Sheriff Stilinski had asked, and that's what Chris had scoffed at (at least internally).

What if the sheriff was right?

Just this month, he'd hunted Derek, because both he and Victoria had both assumed Derek would automatically know who the Alpha was, even though he'd been living in New York since the fire and neither he nor his sister had done anything to bring attention to them.

He and Victoria had been hunting "the second Beta" for the same reason. Even knowing that it was likely to be a teenager, Victoria had talked calmly about killing it (Scott) and Chris had said nothing, willing to do it if it became necessary. Willing to ignore the part of the Code that prohibited slaying supernaturals who were children.

The Alpha Pack _had_ killed humans, but only when they were part of a targeted pack. His family had discussed it one night, and his cousin had said, "They laid down with dogs and they got up with fleas". They'd all nodded their heads (even Chris) and so the deaths of dozens of people, 100% human, were ignored because of who they'd loved.

When the old building finally collapsed causing a small dust storm, Chris barely noticed, too caught in his spiral of memories and recrimination.

Allison thought they were the bad guys, because they saw supernatural creature first, and tax-paying citizen and loving parent after.

He was beginning to think that she was right.


	16. You Can Depend on Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sheriff contemplates life after Gerard, Allison and Scott spend quality time together (because she doesn't want to go home), and Chris' Aunt Elizabeth arrives and tells them how it's going to be.

Scott had put Aiden on the hood of Lydia's car. The warm metal would help keep his core temp up, fighting off shock. Lydia didn't object, so Allison knew she was worried.

Ethan got the bullet open, but none of them had a lighter or matches. She turned to her dad, but it took him a minute or so to realize she was talking to him, and that worried her. Her father was usually more aware of his surrounding than that—he had to be. He supervised while they burned the dried flowers, and then they watched as the black lines faded from Aiden's skin.

Aiden whimpered—a weird thing to hear from the once scary-creepy badass werewolf—but he held his brother's hand and smiled up at Lydia. He would be okay.

The wind picked up, and the shed creaked with increasing vigor.

Allison turned to the building in time to watch it tumble down with a mashup of clanging tin and groaning timber. Dust exploded in a cloud, and the light from the still-beaming LED lights reflected on the particles making them flash and twinkle.

Her grandfather's body was still in there.

One last panel fell from the roof and then it was quiet. But only for a moment.

"Oh wow! If only it had imploded like the house in _Poltergeist_. That would've been cool."

"Stiles! We do not need hauntings on top of everything else."

"'S'okay, Pop," Stiles replied sounding both tired and happy. "I ain't 'fraid of no ghosts." Everybody who heard him groaned. Everybody but her dad.

It was the second time he hadn't reacted to what was going on around him. Once, okay? But twice? Allison was officially worried.

"Dad?" It took a couple repeats for him to break out of his thoughts. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Sorry," he said. "Just thinking. You called us the bad guys."

Allison's face, from her neck to her hairline, flushed with embarrassed heat. "I'm sorry. That was out of line—"

"You were right," her father interrupted her. "Not all the time. I'd even say not most of the time," he said with a small smile. It didn't last long. "But you were right this time. We were so focused on the werewolves, we didn't notice that Gerard was a human monster."

Allison didn't apologize or try to justify it, because he was right but he wasn't the only one who'd underestimated Gerard. She'd thought him a condescending, blood-thirsty creep, but since her mother had agreed with him a lot of the time Allison...

Well, to be honest, she didn't want her mother to be a homicidal maniac, so she'd softened all of it. Explained it all away as "not really meaning it".

"I should have said something." She couldn't look at her father. If they lost their business—their legitimate business—because she hadn't spoken up...

Her father's hand, large and warm, gripped her shoulder. "Hey. This is not your fault," he said, looking at her intently. "Don't ever think it is."

They weren't a touchy family, but Allison wanted a hug. She justified taking it by saying that they both needed one, but her father didn't argue.

"I'm thinking," he mumbled into her hair. "When we get back home. I'm thinking we need to talk to your mother, and maybe Aunt Elizabeth, about the Argent Code. I think," he continued, still hiding in her hair. "It should be about protecting people, not just about hunting."

"We protect those who can't protect themselves?" she suggested. She'd read it in a book last year and it had stuck with her.

He gave a little huffing laugh. "Yeah. That sounds good."

"We'll do it tomorrow," she said and he laughed out loud.

-o0o-

Noah watched the cheap metal sheeting fall in clouds of years-old dirt and leaves. All those still living had gotten out. Getting out the dead would be for the coroner. Kali, Ennis, Gerard... He wouldn't mourn any of them.

He looked around at his people—cops and civilians, humans all. "You did good tonight, everyone," he said. "Thank you for my son."

There were murmurs in return, most happy, some concerned. Stiles, of course, posed jauntily, as if the past few hours had had no impact on him.

The sheriff felt Bungalon before he saw him. "Jason," he said casually. Bungalon paused in surprise, then stepped up beside him. "How're your people holding up?" Noah didn't mean the physical injuries or any mental recovery the SWAT Team would need after shooting other living beings. They'd fought supernatural beings tonight. There wasn't a training manual for that.

"They're a little shaken. Mostly good," Bungalon replied. "I think HIllard's going to leave. To be honest, I can't blame him. It was a little more intense than I'd expected. Less..." His voice trailed away, unable to finish the thought. It was an unusual show of uncertainty.

The sheriff finished the thought for him. "Less human."

Bungalon's head jerked up. Noah nodded, carefully not looking at his deputy. "Felt that way for me, too. Though, until I fight another werewolf pack, it's hard to know if that's normal or just these bozos." He nudged Deucalion with his knee. Deucalion glared up at him.

"I already told Tara to contact State to send an investigator in." Bungalon's posture was tense, slightly defensive, as he said it.

"Good move. No way I'm going to be impartial about my son's kidnapping."

Bungalon's posture relaxed and Noah realized the man had expected a reprimand for following procedure. They had a SECRET now, and secrets meant outsiders weren't welcome. Except they were necessary.

"You can say whatever you want," Noah said casually. "But the gist of what I'm going to say is that Gerard Argent kidnapped my son as a way of manipulating me. They'll probably assume he was trying to coerce me into changing my testimony against Kate Argent. I won't correct them." Noah crossed his arms, uncomfortable with even this small fudging, but all Bungalon's tension disappeared.

"Derek Hale, Chris Argent, and the rest got involved for their own reasons. Things went sideways as they often do when civilians interfere with police operations."

Bungalon nodded. "The teenagers?"

Noah just gave him a look. "They're Stiles' friends. Did you really think they'd stay out of it?"

Bungalon laughed. "To be fair to McCall, It's usually Stiles dragging him into trouble."

The sheriff easily resisted laughing in return. "I'll talk to D.A. Whittemore. I think community service all round will be sufficient punishment."

"And him?" Bungalon nodded down at Deucalion.

The sheriff sighed. "Obstruction. Interference. A fine. Maybe a restraining order to keep away from the Argents."

"Assault of a police officer." It wasn't a suggestion: it was a standard charge when anyone took a swing at a cop. The SWAT Team Leader wanted to know why it wasn't on the list.

Noah spread his hands. "Do I look assaulted to you?" He knew there were rips in his clothes and blood, but most of the cuts were closing or gone.

"We can document your injuries now," Bungalon said. "Before the wounds disappear."

"And how do I explain that they're gone when the force incident review team gets here?" By the time the FI investigators arrived, there would be no proof of any injury. Certainly nothing to justify an assault charge.

Bungalon stood for a moment, just shaking his head. "Sir. That's messed up."

Noah didn't respond, because what could he say? It _was_ messed up, but it was also the way it was now. Being a "werewolf cop" was going to mean adjusting a whole bunch of procedures.

It was quiet again. Quiet enough that the sheriff heard the big SUV growling its way towards them.

Before he could inform Bungalon, the team leader broke the silence. "It's not always going to be as easy as this one," he said, carefully keeping his eyes on the busy crowd of civilians and cops. "Not all of us are going to–"

"I know," Noah interrupted, acknowledging but not encouraging the topic. Bungalon, however, was trained to talk through those kind of signals.

"Garnsley will try to use it to get you out."

"Hardwicke too. I know. But they'll have to wait until the next election to do it." He'd have time to build his record. Malia Tate might not be the only lost child he could track down. Plus, he'd noticed lots of energy spots scattered around the county. Some of them might prefer a supernatural sheriff.

"As for the others, the ones like Hillard, who don't want to live near a supernatural magnet, we'll just have to hope that self-preservation keeps them quiet about the weirder aspects of what they saw."

"That'll work for a while, but if enough of them tell the same story?" Bungalon sounded only mildly skeptical of Noah's plan. He really was good at his job.

"Now you sound like Trejo."

"That's a compliment," Jason said, lifting his chin. "I'm sure Gus'll have a lot of good ideas about how to stop any real-world Weapon X types from digging around Beacon Hills and you." His response completely sidestepped the sheriff's clumsy attempt to change the subject. It demanded an answer as Bungalon had planted his flag with Noah's and he would sink or swim with him as well.

"I think..." Noah needed a moment to assemble the words for this feeling he had.

….And if premonitions and psychic visions were _also_ part of being a werewolf, he was going to dig up Peter Hale's remains and punch him in the mouth.

"I think the people who can't deal with all this—" He waved his hand around the area, encompassing all that had happened. "Those people will transfer out—"

"We'll encourage them to."

The sheriff nodded. "All the help in the world to find a city that suits them better. And in their place, other people will be drawn here. Maybe not all of them will be completely human, but they should be able to accept a werewolf sheriff who considers them pack."

The first SUV was nearly to the shed. Even with Lydia's car parked in front there was plenty of room for it to park. They'd load Aggersen into the back where they could lay him out flat. Patterson and his ankle could sit in the front. The sheriff and Bungalon went over to help with the loading, and to say a few encouraging words. Hillard wouldn't look at him, and even this close, the bond between Hillard and Noah was faint. He offered a wry "Rough night, huh" and got a half-panicked/half-resentful look in return.

Maybe Hillard would be more relaxed in a week. Maybe not. Maybe he wouldn't show up for his shift one day and the next Noah would hear was a phone call from some other police force asking for his assessment of Hillard's skills.

And that was no different than any other day of the week.

-o0o-

Allison presented her case for the change in motto almost as soon as they got through the door. _Not_ the best timing considering he was hurt and Gerard was dead and everything needed to be explained from the beginning. Including Scott McCall—her _boyfriend_ —as the second Beta.

When the shouting turned into something uglier—after he told Victoria that he supported Allison's position on the motto, and said he might be willing to be flexible about her dating McCall as well. Maybe…

Well, unlikely, but still.

At minimum, he wasn't planning to shoot the kid.

Victoria gave him a look filled with betrayal and rage. _She_ was the head of their branch of the Argent clan. Not him and not Allison. She looked ready to hurt Allison. It was a look that reminded Chris of Gerard's expression in the shed when he'd pointed the gun at Stiles.

Because of that look, Chris drove Allison to Lydia Martin's house for the night.

He tried not to think that one night had the possibility of turning into more…

-o0o-

Saturday morning, Allison woke up in Lydia's spare room. She had the spare room, because Lydia was already sharing her bed with Aiden _and Ethan_. (Something about sleeping next to pack strengthening the healing process… Whatever.)

Even if there had been room enough for her, Allison didn't want to be sharing a bed with any werewolf but Scott.

It gave her a dilemma though. Once they'd all woke up, Allison realized she didn't want to watch Lydia and Ethan fussing over Aiden, and if she wasn't willing to help out then her presence here could be very, very awkward. It meant she needed something else to do for the rest of the day.

There were phone calls from her parents. She read them; ignored them. No way was she ready to face either of them.

There were texts from Scott…

According to Scott, Stiles was busy fussing over his father who wasn't letting Stiles out of his sight, so did she want to hang out?

Scott won. (As if there was any doubt.)

She waited at the door for him (Lydia and twins had retreated back to her bedroom) so she saw him drive up in his mom's car. He actually got out, and then stood by the car, shifted from foot to foot. He gave her an embarrassed wave, and she realized that he was nervous. As if, he thought her opinion of him would've somehow changed because of last night.

Allison stood and walked straight up to him. "Can I get a hug?" Scott opened his arms. She tucked herself under his chin. As soon as she was wrapped in his warmth all her tension bled away. Scott leaned over her, and she just breathed. Breathed…

"Are you sniffing me?"

Scott froze.

"You _are_!" Allison couldn't help it she giggled.

"Um, I'm sorry?" His arms loosened and that made Allison frown.

She burrowed back in. "Don't be," and she held on tight while Scott kept his nose in her hair.

Eventually, even she'd had enough of standing on the street. She relaxed her hold. "So where did you want to go?"

"Mengo's?" he suggested. "Comfort food."

Allison considered it: burger and fries _did_ sound good, but Mengo's was always busy, and she didn't want to be anyplace they couldn't talk openly about what had happened last night. Second choice was his place. It actually sounded better than Mengo's when she found out his mom was at work, and they'd have the place to themselves.

It was quiet in Scott's house. Peaceful.

At first, they just talked—about last night, about her fight with her mother, a little about the future. He looked up at her. "Am I in your future?"

She kissed him to prove he definitely _was_ in her future.

And he kissed back.

Then they went beyond kissing—waaaaay beyond kissing—and it was great! Not mind-blowing like in the novels Allison would absolutely deny reading, but fun and definitely worth doing again. Practice made perfect, after all.

She could feel his smile, even though she wasn't looking at his face. She ran her hands over his chest. His skin was so warm and smooth… He didn't have chest hair, but he did have a delicate treasure trail running south from his belly button. She ran her fingers through it just to feel his stomach tighten.

Allison thought of some of the other stories she'd read recently—guilty pleasure fanfics with a certain theme that may or may not have been influenced by finding out her boyfriend was an actual werewolf… Teasing Lydia yesterday hadn't made her any less curious either.

Some of the stories had had a certain theme, but unless Scott was hiding something, they weren't true.

But if they were, she'd have something to hold over Lydia's head for a while (at least until Aidan was fully healed, and Lydia would (presumably) find out for herself.)

It was silly, though. They were _fan fics_! Amateur stories written by horny teenagers with too many kink-memes in their brains and not enough originality.

It occurred to her, that maybe Scott didn't know himself. They'd met soon after he'd been bitten, and they'd gotten together almost right away. They hadn't had much chance to be alone together, though. In fact, today was the first time they'd gone so far, and well, it hadn't taken them long to get _really_ excited. Maybe Scott's _body_ needed more time for things to, you know, _develop._

Maybe he had to have specific stimuli—that could be fun to explore.

However… She couldn't imagine Scott asking Derek a question like that. (Or imagine Derek _answering_ a question like that.)

She wouldn't ask, Allison decided. Too embarrassing for everybody.

"Just ask," Scott said sleepily. "I can practically _feel_ your brain churning."

Allison squirmed. "I can't."

"Sure you can. You can do anything," Scott murmured still smiling. He believed it, too. He believed Allison could do anything, up to and including standing up to her tyrannical mother and her psychopathic grandfather.

Allison took a breath. Took another, because really, this was too silly.

"Just say it." Scott stroked soft fingertips up her arm, making all her hair stand up.

She looked at him. He had a soft smile to go with the soft touch, and he was so completely relaxed and open, that not asking seemed stupider _than_ asking. She cleared her throat lightly.

"So, do you have a knot?"

Scott shot out of the bed so hard, he nearly embedded himself in the roof.

-o0o-

Saturday morning, Chris' Aunt Elizabeth showed up at their door with only a granddaughter for escort. Since she was the leader of the Argent clan in North America, she didn't need anyone else to bolster her authority.

Aunt Elizabeth was his mother's older sister. Elizabeth Marie-Jeanne Argent never looked like a hunter—no hiking boots and cargo pants for her. Instead, she wore business suits and pearls suitable for the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, which Silver Bullet Security Services was. However, her purse had insulated pockets to hold small vials of wolfsbane, mountain ash, ground silver, and holy water. Her sleek BMW had hidden compartments in the trunk and doors where she stored her favorite weapons. She had lawyers, politicians, and academics in her contact list, and she played Mahjong in international competition because chess was "too limiting".

Her granddaughter, Georgia, was exactly like her except in how she dressed. The young woman carried an oversized, military-style duffel bag, and was amazingly quiet in thick combat boots. She limited her interactions with Chris and Victoria to "Nice to meet you," "Coffee's fine," and "I'm just here to observe."

Victoria swallowed whatever fear or resentment she felt at having her aunt-in-law review her decisions, and set everyone up in the front room with refreshments. She didn't let Chris help, so he knew she was still furious with him.

"Shortly before my brother-in-law's death, you requested that we _désavouer_ —disavow—him." Aunt Elizabeth stirred milk into her coffee. She sighed. "If he had lived, _désavouer_ would've been a rubber stamp. Kate's actions brought a lot of attention to us, had law enforcement agencies wondering if we could be trusted. Gerard's actions reinforced those fears. If Sheriff Stilinski speaks out against us…"

"He won't," Chris said. One carefully contoured eyebrow went up. "He is almost rigidly fair. He won't blame all of us for the actions of one."

"And the men who worked for Gerard?"

"Gerard shot them in front of him," Chris said. "Sufficient payback for breaking the law."

"Is it sufficient payback for taking his son and putting him in danger? As an Alpha–"

"As the _sheriff_ ," Chris interrupted. "As long as none of our people break the law, Stilinski will let it be settled."

Aunt Elizabeth looked at Victoria for confirmation. It took a moment before Victoria nodded. "As much as I dislike the idea of it, Sheriff Stilinski is known to be fair, honest, and hard-working. Nothing we've discovered indicates otherwise."

Aunt Elizabeth gave an unhappy hum.

"That's not all." Victoria looked at Chris and nodded, so he took up the tale. "We believe he's told his key people that he is a werewolf."

Both of Aunt Elizabeth's eyebrows went up.

"The SWAT team had wolfsbane-laced bullets," Chris explained. "And I heard he's been working on a training plan for any other supernatural threat they might encounter."

"Heard?" Aunt Elizabeth asked, nibbling on her cookie.

"Overheard," Chris clarified. "During the clean up last night, some of the team talked about the training Stilinski had done with them; how they now understood why Stilinski had pushed it through so fast. They admired him for thinking of it."

Aunt Elizabeth looked at him. "Is he creating a cult?"

Chris shook his head. "From our meeting, I honestly think he just wants to keep his people and the community safe, and that's what the SWAT team was supporting."

Aunt Elizabeth froze. "You met with him? Officially?" Chris opened his mouth to explain. She raised a hand. "No, wait. I want to hear this from the beginning. From the _very_ _beginning_ , and that means from why you decided to return to Beacon Hills. Georgia will take notes." In the corner, Georgia pulled a small laptop out of her big bag and opened it up.

Victoria went first, since it had been her decision to come back here. She gave her report simply and impartially, as was her usual style.

When Victoria reported that she'd set men to follow Derek, Aunt Elizabeth hummed neutral yet condemning.

When Victoria reported that she'd set Gerard to work undermining the sheriff politically, Aunt Elizabeth's lips had twitched up in almost a smile.

When Victoria reported that she'd encouraged Gerard to hunt down the liver-eating Omega, Aunt Elizabeth crinkled her nose as if she'd smelled something bad.

When Victoria reported that Allison had stood against them at the end, Aunt Elizabeth frowned. "Avoidable," she muttered.

Through all of this, it didn't seem to occur to Victoria that some aspects of these tragedies could have been avoided, or at least lessened, if she'd made different decisions. Worse, every word Victoria spoke, her whole posture, said she'd make the same decisions again. Chris looked down at his hands and tried not to be dismayed. Resolution could be admired, but a refusal to learn and to grow…

It struck Chris that anyone not a Hunter would think her just as psychopathic as Kate or Gerard. There was absolutely no empathy for anyone—not Derek for losing the last of his family. Not Allison, for having all the truths of her life ripped away. Not Chris for shooting his father. Not even for herself, for having to defend decisions made under pressure and with limited information.

He rubbed his temple and wished they'd never come back to Beacon Hills. It had raised too many… uncomfortable questions. And provided no answer that he wanted to live with.

Then it was his turn. He described the instructions he'd received, what he'd done, and the information he'd gathered. Everything matched to Victoria's version. Until Gerard.

He had to tell Aunt Elizabeth—tell _someone_ —the reservations he'd had about allowing that man into their home. He told Aunt Elizabeth all about his coffee meeting with Sheriff Stilinski, and how the Alpha had insisted that the Alpha Pack had the right to be in Beacon Hills as long as they didn't break any laws.

Aunt Elizabeth hummed thoughtfully. She filled her coffee cup from the carafe Victoria had already refilled once.

"I thought Alphas couldn't stand other Alphas in their territory?" Georgia asked. It was funny. She was wearing a plaid shirt garish enough to make even Stiles Stilinski flinch, and Chris had completely forgotten she was there.

Victoria cleared her throat. "While it's generally true that settled Alphas are viciously territorial, Stilinski seems to have subsumed that urge beneath his sheriff's oath. He's unique in my experience."

"Not unique," Aunt Elizabeth said slowly. "But rare. Usually only a True Alpha can be so accommodating."

"Stilinski is definitely _not_ a True Alpha," Chris said. "I was right beside him when he stabbed Peter Hale and became an Alpha."

Aunt Elizabeth hummed some more.

"We've already discussed how his control is remarkable," Victoria said dismissively. "However, he hasn't had his first full moon yet. We'll see how well he does then."

Chris wasn't sure if Victoria honestly thought it would go badly, or just hoped that it would. Either way, he kept his mouth shut about it as Victoria and Aunt Elizabeth discussed ways of dealing with an out-of-control Alpha with a pack, which if not 800 strong, was easily in the double digits. Instead, he took one of Victoria's delicious cookies, biting and chewing with determination, until the women had settled on some contingency plans.

He drank coffee until his aunt finally turned back to him and told him to continue, so he told her about the sheriff's offer to share information, his statement that he'd bring in the FBI if he had to. Those had to be discussed and examined from every angle. Chris had already told them his opinion on Stilinski's actions in Starbucks, so he went to the bathroom.

He didn't look at himself in the mirror. Didn't give himself a stereotypical (and useless) stare silently bemoaning his choices and/or his life. No. He went into the kitchen to grab some more cookies from the jar, and put on another pot of coffee.

When he went back to the sitting room, coffee pot and cookies in hand, Aunt Elizabeth was ready to hear about the rest of Friday. It didn't take long: deputies at their door reporting on his father's kidnapping of the sheriff's son, his offer of help, the stand-off in the Hale's old still.

"He had _cancer_? _That's_ why he betrayed the Code?" Both Aunt Elizabeth's eyebrows were raised. Even Victoria's anger was temporarily redirected at her father-in-law."

Chris swallowed. "He said he would've sacrificed anyone—me, Kate, Allison—if it meant his survival."

Aunt Elizabeth's hum was flat out disapproving. "Just as well you shot him then. You _did_ shoot him?"

Chris's throat tightened. All he could do was nod. He didn't look up as silence fell. Victoria shifted in her chair, but stayed quiet. The only sounds were the light tapping of Georgia's fingers on her keyboard and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall.

"I think we'll send his body back to the Mathers to deal with," Aunt Elizabeth finally said. "That way everyone will know that we disavowed him without having to give a public explanation. Of course, I will inform some key people. We don't want anyone else following _that_ particular cure." She shook her head. "A _Mather_. Perhaps it was a chemical imbalance," she mused. "Something he passed on to his daughter."

Chris' knuckles were painfully white. He forced himself to loosen his grip.

Victoria cleared her throat. "That would put Chris in a delicate position. And Allison, of course, as his granddaughter. People might think he also…"

"No, no, no," Aunt Elizabeth said. "We won't be discussing it outside our little group—not even to save dear Kate. A rumor like that would undermine Chris' effectiveness as Silver Bullet's representative, and he's one of our best salesmen." She gave him a kindly smile. Like she was petting a dog.

Chris squeezed his hands back together. "I'm not a psychopath. Whatever caused their behavior—chemical imbalance, upbringing, fucking _genetics_ —I don't have it."

This time Aunt Elizabeth's smile was full. "Obviously not," she said. "You've kept your head throughout this whole mess." She stretched a hand towards him. "I am sorry for your loss, Chris. He was your father, no matter what he became, but shooting him was probably the best action you could've taken to redeem the Argent name."

Chris swallowed, looking away. "It was the right thing to do."

She tapped the table. "It was also very smart. Now, continue."

So he admitted that he'd shot one of the twins for no reason other than he was a werewolf. He described Ennis' attack and Scott's defense. He told them how Derek had grabbed hold of Kali and refused to let go despite having been impaled only moments before. He spoke of the sheriff and the SWAT team remaining professional all through the standoff and the evacuation. He told them that Deucalion still lived, but had submitted to sheriff. And slowly, pausing to give his wife a pleading look, he told them that their motto needed to change.

Aunt Elizabeth let her coffee cup drop to the table. " _That_ will require further explanation, I think."

Beside him, Victoria folded her arms across her chest. Rejection.

Chris sighed, and told them what Allison had been thinking since Kate had tortured Derek in front of her.

At the keyboard, Georgia snorted. Everyone looked at her. She looked back. "It's obvious. Your daughter's the one who tipped off the sheriff, not his son."

Victoria growled. "Allison _wouldn't_ –"

Georgia shrugged. "Okay. You know her best."

Victoria settled slowly, giving their first cousin-once removed another glare before her expression settled into polite interest. Chris thought it was entirely possible that Allison had reported Kate. She'd had them all signing petitions to free the Sea World orcas and to stop various other practices that were cruel to animals. She donated to kill-free shelters, and handed out pamphlets. She might have seen what Kate did to Derek as torture. Considering Allison said Kate hadn't asked any Derek any questions, it probably _had been_ torture. Or would have been if Derek was human.

And there it was again.

The double-standard of acceptable behavior that he hadn't ever questioned. The double-standard that Allison was so set on changing.

"Allison has suggested that our motto be changed to 'nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes'," he said.

"We protect those who cannot protect themselves?" Aunt Elizabeth repeated. "That is a significant change."

Victoria's polite expression fell away. "I haven't agreed to it."

Aunt Elizabeth sipped her coffee. She cut a glance towards her niece-in-law. "Hunters have always worked in secret, but cell phones and social media are changing the world. Secrets are becoming obsolete. It's only a matter of time before videos are on the internet showing everybody what really hides in the dark." She turned her cup in its coaster, precise quarter turns. "I and some of the other clan leaders are trying to position us as experts that governments can turn to once that happens. A motto—similar to that of many police departments—might help us convince the authorities that we're the good guys." She raised her eyes to stare at them intently. "We _need_ to be the good guys, or we'll all end up like Kate."

Chris felt pinned by that gaze. It was all of Gerard and Victoria's ruthlessness held in brutal check. It was focused on protection rather than hunting, but he realized there was nothing Aunt Elizabeth wouldn't do to make sure that Hunters didn't end up the hunted in the future she could see.

Victoria regained her nerve first, blinking a couple times and giving a quiet cough. "Do you expect us to leave Stilinski in place?"

Aunt Elizabeth looked away, pulling all her intensity back into herself. She tapped her manicured nails against her cup, making hardly any sound at all. "I'd like to meet him first."

"Today?" Victoria asked, raising an eyebrow of her own.

Aunt Elizabeth smiled, shaking her head. "Tomorrow is soon enough. First, I need you to tell me everything you know him, and everything that you were planning on doing to him."

Chris didn't hold back anything, because only the truth would explain why he thought the sheriff should stay the sheriff, especially here in Beacon Hills. Victoria held nothing back because it was more of her decisions she wasn't second-guessing.

"He arrested Deucalion," Elizabeth repeated, voice blank in shock.

Chris nodded. "Deucalion was charged with obstruction, uttering threats, and some other misdemeanor crap. He posted bail, and is sitting in his room at the resort awaiting his hearing. The County Prosecutor has been out to see him."

"Most likely to talk about Kate," Victoria suggested.

"Kate…" Aunt Elizabeth murmured. Her tone wasn't warm. "Is Kate going to plead insanity?"

Chris shook his head. "Not a chance."

They'd continued talking about the sheriff, Kate and Peter Hale until Allison came home. She'd come back to get her school things.

"You're not at home?" Aunt Elizabeth asked.

Allison's chin went up. "I'm staying with a friend for a while."

Victoria sniffed and turned away from her daughter. Aunt Elizabeth saw it all. "Stay for a bit. Tell me the reasons why you think our motto should change."

"It's not just the motto," Allison said passionately. "But our whole _attitude_ towards people who are different to us. How does that make us any different than Hitler with the Jews?" It devolved from there, with Victoria saying they weren't people, and Allison saying they weren't automatically monsters. Neither one of them backing down.

Allison accused all hunters of conditioning their children into unthinking soldiers for a war that didn't need to happen. She gave with examples, and clinical definitions, and they matched events in both his and Victoria's childhoods. Behaviors they had used on her. On their daughter.

It made him want to throw up, and he'd grown up under _Gerard._

Victoria, defended their parenting by describing what her parents had put her through, what _all_ Mather children went through. Allison hadn't even gone through _half_ of what a Mather child her age would have experienced.

Allison, trembling but firm, stated, "What they did to you was abuse."

And so the discussion of Kate and Gerard, the investigations and the possible fallout from both, the future of the Argent clan here in Beacon Hills and what to do about the sheriff, was derailed by a kind of intervention. If their lives were a movie, Chris thought, it would've been the emotional climax with crying and hugs, and everything would be rainbows and candy farts from now on.

 _If_ their lives were a movie, but it wasn't. It wasn't even close.


	17. Aftermaths are for Altering Facts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Hunters and Werewolves coexist? Do werewolves make good cops? Will Alphas make good students? Does the zombie apocalypse research paper actually exist?
> 
> Read on for answers to all these questions and more!
> 
> AN: I both can and can't believe this is the last chapter. For some reason, this was a sloooow writing story. It took me months to write it, and more months to edit, but in the end I'm happy with it. Thanks to everyone who's followed along. I hope the ending satisfies. - etrix

The sheriff was surprised to receive a phone call from Chris Argent. He was even more surprised that the man wanted to meet. "The force incident review team won't want us talking to each other," he said. "After all, they're investigating you as well."

"It's not me you'll be talking to," Chris responded. "My Aunt Elizabeth is in town. She's a big deal in our world." By which Noah gathered she could order Chris to fall on his sword if she wanted to.

"She'd like to meet you."

Noah sat back in his chair. He'd spent most of the day with Stiles and Derek, but now he was in his office looking over more résumés, and making phone calls, and thinking.

He'd spent some time last night talking to Deucalion. Unlike Derek, the Alpha Pack leader was old enough to remember dealing with hunters and other werewolf packs. He hadn't been especially helpful, but Noah had a better idea of how bad it was between werewolves and hunters. Gerard hadn't been the only one to ignore a truce, just the most vicious.

On the other hand, if meaningful change was possible, then as a sworn officer of the law, duty bound to uphold the peace, he kind of had to meet with Chris's Aunt Elizabeth.

"I can give her half an hour in about…" He looked at his watch. It was only 4PM. "In about an hour."

"We'll meet you at the Starbucks?" Chris asked.

"That works."

-o0o-

Saturday evening's crowd was lighter than the one during the week. The sheriff was glad to not have to deal with the pressure of too many people, but sorry to lose the ambient noise. He got his coffee and took a table in the back.

Chris walked in slowly, and the sheriff remembered he'd been hit pretty hard when Ennis tossed Scott at him. The woman walking with Chris was not what Noah had expected. She looked like a lawyer from a TV series: sharp suit, high heels, and make-up that took time to get right.

He rose to his feet and held out his hand. She didn't even blink before shaking it. "Elizabeth Argent—Chris's aunt. This is my granddaughter Georgia." Georgia looked like a female version of Stiles with less klutz and more hair. She gave a little wave, barely remembering to take her hand off her phone as she did. Then she went back to tapping at the screen.

Chris pulled out a seat for his aunt. Georgia took the one beside her, still with her phone out.

"Do you want a refill?" Chris asked. Noah shook his head and Chris went to the line to get the drinks for his family. They must've discussed their order before they showed up, because they sure as hell hadn't discussed it since.

Georgia barely looked up, supposedly playing on her phone. Was he supposed to think she was playing Angry Birds? Noah was pretty sure she was recording the whole thing and the thumb-tapping was just a cover. He could call them on it, but that wouldn't help the negotiations—and they were negotiations. Considering just whom 'Aunt Elizabeth' represented, he was probably in negotiation for his life.

He gave Chris's aunt his best serious look. "I'm sorry we have to meet in these circumstances. Please understand I can't discuss either Kate's or Gerard's case with you."

She smiled softly, reassuringly. "I'm not here to talk about them." She folded her hands neatly in her lap. "Rather, my nephew seems to think we should leave you in place, despite your… recent affliction."

Affliction? Noah repeated to himself, working hard not to roll his eyes.

"That's one way of putting it," he said, voice just as mild and reasonable as hers. "Of course, I agree with your nephew," he went on. "I'm a good sheriff, and with the exception of the last two months, my arrest record's pretty good." He gave her his own reassuring smile. "Now, if you want to run someone against me–"

Ms. Argent had blinked a couple times, in surprise or something like it, but when he mentioned elections she waved a hand. "It's not your status as sheriff that's the issue. At least, it's not the prime issue that I wish to discuss."

Noah leaned back in his seat and rested a hand on his belt, thinking. He'd gone back to his old leather one now that his back could take the extra weight. The feel of the worn leather was reassuring.

He decided to push a bit. "Are you saying Gerard was meeting with County Supervisor Hardwicke for some reason other than having me impeached?"

Ms. Argent's smile turned tight. "Gerard's schemes—whatever they were—died with him. My concerns are quite different. After all," she continued. "If I'm going to change 250 years of tradition, I need to know the catalyst."

Ah, Noah thought.

Chris Argent came back with the drinks: tea for Aunt Elizabeth, and a sugary confection that only slightly resembled coffee for her granddaughter. Noah took a breath, enjoying the fresh coffee smell, detectable even under the syrups. Chris made sure the milk and sugar levels were right for everyone before taking the last seat at the table. Elizabeth Argent took a decorous sip, and then set the cup down

Noah crossed his arms over his chest, and prepared for questions that would be rude, derogatory, and dismissive or filled with stupid assumptions. "Ask away."

"Are you enjoying the shift, Sheriff?" Elizabeth sipped her tea.

"Enjoy isn't quite the right word," he responded. "I don't enjoy guns, but they are an integral part of my job. Because of that, I learned how and when to use them. Tools of the trade."

"You consider claws and fangs a tool?" Her eyebrow went up in disbelief. Noah thought the motion was calculated. She wanted to provoke him, just like every defense attorney he'd ever faced on the stand.

"I've thought for a while that a K9 unit would be useful in Beacon County," he said. "More often than I'd like, we find meth and other drug labs set up in the Preserve. I wouldn't care if it were a Chihuahua, as long as it helped me protect the citizens of Beacon County. Being big and scary…" He shrugged. "Those would be like pearl handles on a revolver. Nice, but not necessary."

"And you think you'll be able to control your, hmm. 'K9' unit?" she asked.

The sheriff quirked his lips in a fake smile. "I'm good with dogs."

Ms. Argent took another sip, very lady-like and precise—the sheriff prepared for the knife. "You once had a reputation as being quite the drinker."

His gut tightened. He clenched his fist and kept his politician's smile in place. "My wife had just died. It was a dark period of my life, but it never affected my work." It was from the script his original campaign manager had worked out for him and he repeated it by rote, but he had something new to add. "Since my 'affliction' doesn't let me get drunk, it's now a complete non-issue." He drank his coffee, making sure to display his (still) completely human fingernails for the peanut gallery. Score one for him, he thought.

"And how are you going to keep the knowledge of your recent… Change, out of public knowledge?"

Noah snorted. "I'm not going to bother. Too many people know already."

"Oh?" she asked. "You're not going to ask your deputies to lie on their official reports every time you use or display non-human characteristics?

Noah kept the smile on his face through pure stubbornness. Aunt Elizabeth's knives were sharp. Thankfully, he'd had a lot of time to think about this since Peter Hale's attack on the station. He'd already talked to the County Prosecutor

"No, ma'am, I'm not," he said. "It would be unethical for me to influence their reports in any way."

For the first time, Ms. Argent frowned. Her eyes narrowed, and he guessed she was planning a new avenue of attack. His smile sharpened.

She didn't even try to be polite with her next questions. Instead, she fired them at him like bullets: what would he do about full moons? What would he do at a bloody crime scene?

He answered them the same way. "Change shifts with somebody else." "Same as now: wait until forensics clear me for entry."

"How would you deal with deputies quitting—essentially leaving your pack?" She paused and narrowed her eyes at him, as if she'd made a point he couldn't argue.

Noah barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

"Same as I do now," he said. "Have my Chief Deputy and my Administration Supervisor go through the piles of applications again." He crossed his arms on the table leaning forward a little. "You have to understand, Ms. Argent, officers who last longer than five years are the exception, not the rule. I've survived having some truly fine people walk off their shift and not come back. It upset me when I was a rookie; it doesn't upset me now."

His phone beeped to remind him of a teleconference he had in ten minutes. He excused himself with decent politeness (he thought), and took his used cup with him when he left the table. He gave the barista a nod as he put it on the counter. Old Mrs. Perkins stopped him, asked after Stiles (she'd taught him in grade 2), and promised him her support in the 2012 elections. He managed a genuine smile for her, but he could feel the wolf clawing him up inside.

Outside the Starbucks, he rested his hands on his service belt. As ever, it grounded him. Cop. Stiles' father. Werewolf. The first two might switch in importance, but the last one would always be last.

-o0o-

Their table was quiet in the midst of the ambient noise. Chris didn't look away from Aunt Elizabeth, because if he pretended to be interested in anything other than her reaction would be an obvious lie. Georgia's thumbs stilled on the screen of her phone.

Aunt Elizabeth click-click-clicked her tidy, short nails against her cup. "Well."

"Hmm," Chris hummed neutrally.

"He believes it," Georgia said disbelievingly.

"Belief is a powerful weapon," Aunt Elizabeth said. She'd stopped tapping her nails, but her knuckles were white around the heavy ceramic.

Chris clenched his jaw. "As long as he believes in the law, and his place within the law enforcement community, he could be a formidable ally." It was a close he could come to saying that they should leave Sheriff Stilinski alone.

"Hmmm," she echoed his neutral hum. "He could also become the worst kind of despot." She puts her hands flat on the table. "No. I'm not willing to make any snap decisions about this." She looks at him. "I hope you like your current house. You're probably going to be here for a while."

-o0o-

School on Monday wasn't as bad as Allison had feared. It helped that she was flanked by Lydia and Scott when she walked in the door. Stiles had stayed home. He had his own injuries to heal from, but he'd claimed that he needed to stay home to make sure Derek didn't do anything stupid. (Allison had heroically managed to contain her laughter at the statement. The man had apparently attacked one of the Alphas _after_ _being impaled through the stomach!_ )

The local newspaper had been remarkably quiet about the whole thing at the shed, which meant the nationals weren't getting involved either.

Lydia figured it was because the main players weren't alive to be charged with anything. This time there would be no dramatic announcements in the Beacon County Courthouse. Hopefully, no one would mention werewolves at all.

Speaking of…

"Hello Ethan," Scott said cautiously. He was standing tightly balanced in front of the former member of the Alpha Pack.

"How's Aidan?" Lydia asked. She'd just seen him yesterday, so the question was to diffuse the tension. Allison appreciated it.

"He's much better," Ethan replied. "He'll be good to come back to school tomorrow. If that's okay…"

Scott frowned, a quick drop of his eyebrows. "Why wouldn't it be okay?"

That made Ethan frown. "We're not in your pack."

"Yeah, okay," Scott acknowledged. "But you're still students. You _are_ actually students, right? It wasn't just a cover."

Ethan nodded quickly. "Yeah, we're really students."

"You're not sixteen, though." Allison guessed.

"Eighteen," he said. "But we didn't graduate." He flicked a quick glance at Lydia. "We figured that the sheriff would probably look more favorably on our request if we were committed to finishing at least grade 12." He said it stiffly, as if he'd memorized it, and Allison had a good idea of who exactly had had that idea.

So did Scott, because he also shot Lydia a glance.

Lydia lifted her chin and kept it raised until Scott shrugged. "Well then, I guess we'll see you around school."

"Are you going to tell Alpha–"

"Sheriff," Scott corrected.

Ethan swallowed. "Are you going to tell _Sheriff_ Stilinski that we're here?"

Again, Scott shrugged. "He probably already knows."

Suddenly, Ethan shifted, lifting his hands to his hips and huffing out a frustrated breath. "Then why hasn't he been to see us?"

"He can't until the special investigators are done," Scott said surprised. "It could be taken as witness tampering if he does."

Ethan stared at him. "He was serious about that cop shit. It wasn't just a pose?"

"Dude! He was dead serious," Scott replied. "And don't call it 'cop shit' around him _or_ Stiles, or you'll get a three-hour lecture on the Constitution and all the ways an honest judicial system is the cornerstone to civil liberties and good government."

This time, Ethan's stare lasted longer. "Seriously?"

Allison nodded along with Scott. They'd heard it yesterday, although she wasn't sure it had lasted three hours.

Two hours, tops.

"Tell you what," Scott said. "I'll let Stiles know you're concerned about Sheriff Stilinski's reaction to you and your brother sticking around. He'll talk to his dad, and then he'll tell me what his dad said, and then I can tell you."

Lydia rolled her eyes. " _What_ can go wrong with that?"

"Stiles has got a great memory," Scott defended his friend.

"When he remembers his meds," Lydia pointed out.

Ethan raised his hands. "I'll take it. We'd like to stay. We just have to know what's expected of us."

"No turning evil," Allison said.

"Our parents tend to kill Evil around here," Scott said solemnly.

Ethan blinked. "We noticed that."

-o0o-

Chris waited patiently in the bland sitting area outside County Supervisor Hardwicke's office. He didn't read a magazine or play on his phone. He didn't twitch or shift and that was only partly due to his still healing ribs.

It was restful here.

There was no muzak, the chairs were only mildly uncomfortable. Best yet, his wife and his daughter weren't fighting in the next room.

He tipped his head back against the wall but didn't close his eyes.

He waited.

Aunt Elizabeth and Georgia had left on schedule. She'd decided to wait until after Sheriff Stilinski's first full moon. It hadn't made Victoria happy, but his wife would respect the order. (That she fully expected Sheriff Stilinski to lose control by week's end was the only reason she hadn't argued harder.) Chris was just happy that the two women had managed to be polite to each other for the rest of Aunt Elizabeth's visit.

While they'd been getting into the car this morning, Aunt Elizabeth had turned to him, laid a hand on his cheek, and said that, given Kate's recalcitrant attitude, she would be taking over the handling of Kate's case. "Don't worry," she'd said. "I'll take care of your sister." It sounded vaguely threatening, but then, most of what Hunters said could be considered ominous. All he could feel was relief that it was one less family burden off his back (and the guilt that came with that relief).

A deep breath (to prevent pneumonia setting in, nothing more). It made his ribs twinge and he shifted uncomfortably, making the County Supervisor's secretary shoot him another nervous look.

It was a reminder that it had only been three days, and unlike just about everybody else involved in the "incident", he was all too human and healed at a human's normal, irritating rate. The sheriff certainly hadn't looked like he'd been attacked by Alphas just three days ago.

Bastard, he thought without heat.

When he'd come in, he'd known that the bruises on his face made him look like he'd been involved in a bar fight, combine that with his refusal to book "an appointment next week" like a polite person, and he hadn't endeared himself to the secretary. He was pretty sure her hand was hovering over the panic button by her desk.

He caught the secretary giving him another glance. She was talking into her headset, soft enough he couldn't hear what she said, but another quick glance and a nod and she was smiling brightly at him. "Supervisor Hardwicke will see you now." She stood up and waited for him. "Can I get you more water?"

Chris creaked to his feet, gave his broken rib a moment to settle, then smiled back. "I won't be in long enough."

He'd met Shay Hardwicke a few years ago. In her role as head of the County Procurement Committee, she'd approved the purchase of tactical weapons and vests from Silver Bullet. The years since had settled easily on her. Her hair had some extra grey, and she was plumper than before, but her skin was still smooth and her posture still upright and controlled. She exuded an air of affable approachability, but Chris knew she was much more like his Aunt Elizabeth. It was just that Aunt Elizabeth didn't depend on votes to maintain her position.

Supervisor Hardwicke walked around her desk as he entered, circling beside it and waving him towards the fancy table she could use for small, private meetings. Like this one.

"Mr. Argent—Chris. I am _so_ sorry for your loss." She raised a hand, and didn't let him respond. "I can only imagine what your father was going through—what he was _feeling_. The desperation that pushed him into such an unbelievable act!"

He didn't smile. They'd agreed to blame the cancer. Not entirely a lie, but hardly the truth. "He kidnapped and threatened to kill a 16-year-old kid. There's not many ways to justify that."

Supervisor Hardwicke shifted the hand to her throat. "Well, ummm."

He saw the moment she decided to ignore the ugly truth of Gerard's end. Her hand dropped and she took a breath.

He beat her to it. "Whatever he suggested to you, in regards to Sheriff Stilinski, you should know that the rest of the family didn't support his actions." Definitely a lie. They'd known exactly what Gerard was doing. Victoria had suggested it, after all.

Hardwicke opened her mouth.

"Whatever funding, or manpower, or political pull he offered to you in whatever plan you two had to get Stilinski out of office, that's gone."

She sat, just blinking at him for several moments. "But he shot your father!"

Now Chris did smile, small and bleak, but still an upward tilt of the mouth. "The sheriff didn't shoot Gerard. I did," he said and watched her go pale. She was looking at him as if he was a monster. The way he'd probably looked at Gerard as he pointed his gun at Stiles' head.

He'd had enough of this conversation. He needed to be out of this room, this building.

Just one more thing to say:

"I'm not sure I like the man, but he's a good cop. The county could do a lot worse."

He got up and walked out. He didn't run, didn't quicken his pace. He was proud of that even as he realized he was using it to time his breathing. He took the stairs. Couldn't imagine standing in the tiny box of an elevator car. He counted the stairs in sets of four—four in, four out—and didn't let himself think (remember) anything else. They were just stairs. He was just going down the stairs. That's all. That's all.

He was still thinking in sets of four when he reached the SUV. He was just standing at the door, counting.

How long...?

Didn't matter, he decided. He was out. He was done. He could go home.

And hope Victoria was done being angry enough to try to stab him with a butcher knife.

He didn't bother getting his keys out of his pocket. He was in no state to drive. Besides, he decided, a slow walk would do him good.

-o0o-

Sheriff Stilinski came home to a now familiar sight: Derek, under blankets and with plenty of snacks and liquids to hand, frowning at the TV. The sheriff heard David Attenborough's soothing narration of one animal species doing horrific things to another.

"Stiles put it on?" It wasn't really a question, but Derek grunted agreement.

"You feeling better?" The sheriff wasn't yet comfortable with how much he could pick up from people who'd accepted him as their alpha, so he resisted the urge to use the pack bond to check on Derek's physical recovery.

"I'm fine," the beta said grumpily. Noah waited until Derek caved. "I'm mostly fine. Your son's just a worrywart."

Noah had to laugh at that. Just this morning, Stiles had reminded him that he needed to get his cholesterol level checked. (Of course, Stile's had said it while swiping the bacon from Noah's plate…)

"Good, good," he said. "I'm just going to put my gun away and get changed. Then we need to talk about what you want to do once you're completely fine."

Derek shot him a nervous, wide-eyed look but he didn't protest. He gave a shallow nod then turned back to the show. Noah doubted Derek would hear one word in ten, but he would respect the protective measure by not asking Derek about the program when he came back down in comfortable clothes.

Stiles grabbed him in the hallway, to talk about the twin alphas, Ethan and Aidan Steiner attending school. It was an easy answer (as long as they had the paperwork and didn't break any laws) so it didn't take long before Noah was heading back downstairs for his talk with Derek.

He grabbed a couple beers from the fridge before heading to the living room. He was off shift for the next two days as the special investigators moved in, and no matter the reason, he always had a beer to celebrate the start of his weekend, damn it!

Derek frowned at the bottle he handed to him, but he took it. "Beer?"

"I like beer," Noah shrugged. "I wasn't giving it up." He took a drink, enjoying the rich flavor.

Derek, nose pre-wrinkled in dislike, sniffing at the bottle delicately. "I used to drink it as cover in college.

Noah's eyebrows went up. "I didn't know you went to college."

Derek nodded. "Some business and corporate law courses. I was going to manage the family investments." He smiled sadly. "Laura was a great alpha, but she was horrible with budgets. Or anything to do with money, really."

"Family investments?" Noah repeated. "There's enough to need a business manager?" Noah sat back in his chair. He'd known the Hales were well off—somewhere in the upper parts of upper middle class—but what Derek said put them above even that.

Derek nodded. He took a small sip, jumping a little in surprise. "The Hales owned most of Beacon Hills by the time the Gold Rush started. They sold off the land bit-by-bit, so between that and time–"

"And moonshine," Noah added with a smile.

Derek nodded. "And that, it's kind of accumulated." He stopped, stared at the label on the bottle. "Then there's the insurance money."

"Ah." Noah imagined that Derek felt guilty at having that money—would bet that Derek thought it was blood money, 'earned' through the death of his family. He steered the conversation away from the topic of Hale's money. "Is it a full-time job? Managing the investments."

Derek looked over at him, surprised. "No. I mean… It's more about understanding what our portfolio managers are saying. _My_ portfolio managers, I guess."

"Are you thinking of going back to college? Finish off that business degree, or you know, become a lawyer?"

Derek flinched. It was minute physically, but loud through the bond. He shot Noah an apologetic look.

"Didn't enjoy college, huh." Noah kept his mouth shut on speculation about the reasons why and how it might be different now. "Well then, what are your plans? Head back to New York?"

A spike of fear flashed through the bond. It made Noah's skin feel icy before Derek got himself back under control. "New York was my sister's idea, and I liked it, but…" Derek picked at the label, carefully not looking at Noah. "I'd expect her to be there, you know?"

Noah _did_ know. Ten years, and he still sometimes expected to hear Claudia's laugh.

The sheriff took a drink before speaking. It helped his voice remain neutral. "If you're thinking of staying in Beacon Hills, I have absolutely no objections. In fact, I have a suggestion for you—a request. Join the Sheriff's Office."

Derek choked on his beer and coughed uncontrollably for a while. Noah reached over and took the bottle from Derek's hand and put it on the coffee table. He waited, outwardly patient, while Derek gave him disbelieving glances in between coughing.

Noah waited, until Derek was ready to ask his questions.

"You want me to become a deputy. _Me_?" Derek made it sound as ridiculous as becoming an intergalactic astronaut in a Lego spaceship. "You remember you arrested me for murder."

Noah shook his head. "You weren't arrested for murder, but for interfering with a dead body."

"Oh _that_ sounds _so_ much better." Derek substituted a scowl for an eye-roll.

"And the charges were dropped," the sheriff continued. "Aside from that and a couple speeding tickets, your record is clean. If you take an eight-month law enforcement course from the state college in Sacramento, even those will be forgiven."

Derek leaned forward on the couch. "You're serious."

"I am absolutely serious about this." Noah leaned forward to match him. "The county _needs_ deputies and a deputy with werewolf abilities can only be an asset." Derek shook his head. Noah pressed on. "In the shed, you said you'd accept me as your alpha. I am willing to accept you as my beta, but I've found I do better—I'm more stable—if I have my betas close." He waved a hand. "I can't keep Stiles or Scott out of school. I'm not willing to bite anyone else at this time, so you joining the force would be a big favor to me. And to everyone else in the office," he admitted, slouching unhappily in his chair.

"How bad is it?" Derek asked.

Noah pinched his nose, hoping to relieve some of the tension. "Frankly I was better before Jason's declaration. Now, I want to growl at every person who's rude to my staff. Frequent-flyer complainers irritate the _shit_ out of me even though I know my people can and will handle them without incident."

Derek stared at him, a small divot between his brows let Noah know he was thinking.

"Is it just when your civilian staff is hassled?" he asked.

It was Noah's turn to frown as he thought. He examined all the instances over the last two days when he had nearly popped his claws. Aside from a couple incidents with Stiles, they all involved his civilian staff. Maybe his werewolf side was still waiting for that—for one of his clerks or the finance manager to make some kind of statement. It sounded silly, but he was a _werewolf_. Weird and silly was a given.

"I'll talk to Wanda about it tomorrow," he said. "Still doesn't change the fact that you'd make a good deputy. If you want to."

-o0o-

Derek looked at the sheriff. He used every sense he had to figure out if Stilinski was lying or exaggerating in any way, because... why?

Why would Stilinski want him that close?

First off, the whole idea of him becoming a deputy was ridiculous. Wasn't it? He'd _been_ arrested. Stilinski couldn't just sweep that away. Except he obviously thought he could.

Still.

Derek didn't actually like people much. Didn't trust them, kind of always thought they were out for themselves.

Actually… that might be an asset for a cop.

He'd be close to his pack.

It hadn't escaped his notice that deputies had dropped by continuously over the weekend. Stilinski's no-nonsense chief deputy, and the laconic senior sergeant who'd told embarrassing training stories about the sheriff while folding little wolves (that Stiles had cackled at and collected). Bungalon and Astiago and a bunch of other had all "reported in" while the sheriff worked from home. They'd all given Derek searching looks. They'd all asked if there was anything he needed. In other words, they'd _hovered_.

He'd wanted to shout at them that he wasn't going to bite Stilinski—either of them—but even the thought if shouting made his still-healing stomach hurt.

"Are you going to make the same suggestion to the twins?" he asked instead of the other questions rattling around his brain.

The sheriff sat back. A frown of concern settled on his brow. "Ethan and Aiden," he said with a sigh. "They're still teenagers, so that'll help, but the Alpha Pack was a violent gang, responsible for the deaths of dozens of people-"

"Werewolves," Derek corrected.

"People who were also werewolves," Stilinski said with unarguable firmness. "I've got Lassiter researching their movements since they joined the Alpha Pack: fingerprints, witness statements, that kind of thing-"

"We don't have fingerprints when we're shifted."

The sheriff's mouth stayed open as he processed Derek's statement. Finally, his face twisted in disbelief. "Why not? Where would they go?" All Derek could do was shrug helplessly. "This is like the sideburns, isn't it?"

It was Derek's turn to stare in disbelief. "The sideburns. The claws and fangs. The extra 50 to 100 pounds of body mass," he said.

Stilinski gave another sigh. He took a long swallow of beer, finishing the bottle. "So no fingerprints. Good to know. Explains why Deucalion isn't on a Most Wanted list somewhere."

"I'm sure the Argents have him on one."

The sheriff waved that away. "As long as the Steiner twins aren't on it."

They were silent a moment as they contemplated how unlikely that was. It would require Chris Argent to keep secrets from his wife. Having encountered Victoria Argent around town a couple times, Derek didn't think it was likely. At all.

Finally, Stilinski waved a hand dismissing the twin alphas. "They're asking to stick around apparently, and I have no reason to say no."

Derek's brows went up. "They're alphas?"

"They have alpha strength, but not the personality. I think they just want a safe harbor for a while. Some place where no one treats them as fodder." He waved his hand again. "But they're a distraction from the question at hand."

"Me becoming a deputy," Derek said without inflection.

"If you want to. If you think it's something you'd enjoy."

There was no pressure in the sheriff's voice. He'd already stated that he wanted Derek with him at the station, keeping him stable, but he wasn't making it an order and that counted for a lot.

Derek could get into whatever college was offering the program. He could pay for whatever program he wanted to take. He could fucking travel the world in a luxury yacht if he wanted!

"I'll think about it." And he did.

He thought about it through supper. He thought about it as the sheriff checked his bandages. He was still thinking about it at 2 AM, when Stiles stumbled down the stairs in search of the kitchen.

Derek didn't say a word, he didn't move, but Stiles still somehow knew that he was awake. He brought two glasses of milk and a plate full of cookies into the living room. (Derek could manage the stairs now, but he was slower than a nonagenarian without his cane.

Stiles ritualistically folded his cookie in half, breaking it carefully, and dipped it into his milk. He held it under for about four seconds before taking it out and sucking on it. Then he dipped it again.

Derek's brows went up. "That's disgusting."

"Naw, man. Cookie-filtered milk is the _best_ ," Stiles said. "I like gingersnaps the best, but any hard cookie will do."

Derek looked at the plate of cookies. "Those are chocolate chip."

"And they're their own little patties of joy." Stiles wiped a crumby dribble of milk off his chin.

Derek levered himself upright. It was slow (though maybe not as slow as in the morning?), and he appreciated that Stiles didn't rush over to help him. He closed his eyes against the flashes of pain making sparks in his brain and his eyeballs. When he opened them, Stiles was holding out the plate. Derek took a cookie and bit off a small piece. They were good. Stiles had made them that afternoon.

He still couldn't agree with dipping them in milk until they were a soggy porridge.

"Are you gonna do it?" Stiles asked out of nowhere.

Derek froze with the cookie halfway to his mouth. "Do what?"

"Become a deputy," Stiles said, munching on his wet cookie.

"I don't know," Derek responded cautiously. "I'm thinking about it."

Stiles shot him a quick glance as he grabbed another cookie. "You're allowed to be happy," he said, looking down at his glass of now brownish milk. "You always grieve, but you're still allowed to want things."

"I don't know if I want to be a cop."

"Too cliché?" Stiles waggled his eyebrows. "Don't want to be known as 'Wolf Cop'?"

Derek glared at Stiles. "Nobody would call me that." Stiles would definitely call him that.

Stiles peeked at him. "So what's your problem with it?"

Derek's hand dropped to his lap, scattering cookie crumbs on his blanket.

"You think it's a good idea?" he asked in disbelief. "What the hell am I saying? Of course, you think it's a good idea. You're the one who chucked lacrosse balls at a newly turned werewolf in order to teach him control."

"It worked!"

"You're lucky he didn't kill you."

Stiles hunched into a sulky curl. Eating his cookie sludge with a hurt-looking pout.

Derek sighed. "This time… well, you might not be wrong."

Instantly, Stiles straightened. His whole face looked bright and hopefully. His cookie oozed milk onto his pajama pants. "Really? I mean, you're seriously thinking about it."

"I'm seriously thinking about it."

" 'cus I can help you with the course, and learning the laws and stuff. If you become a sworn officer, then you don't have to know the county by-laws, but it's a good idea to know the basics anyways. Actually, Gus will have you doing parking tickets for at least part of your training," Stiles rambled. "He doesn't like the sworn officers thinking they're better than the unsworn ones."

Derek lifted his hand (the one _without_ the cookie). "Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean 'sworn' and 'unsworn'?"

Derek only realized his mistake when Stiles' eyes doubled in size. "Oh, maaan! I have sooo much to teach you…"

 

**EPILOGUE**

Two weeks after Aunt Elizabeth left, Chris received a call from Kate's prison. His sister had been attacked, stabbed in the throat, and left in some suddenly empty area of the jail, said the impartial voice on the phone.

The voice waited, no doubt expecting him to ask questions. He didn't bother.

The voice on the phone continued, telling him his sister hadn't been breathing when her body was discovered and all attempts at resuscitation had failed. There would be an investigation, the voice said, but the voice also said she didn't expect the investigation to find out anything unless someone came forward.

Chris silently agreed with her.

His sister had pissed someone off enough that they'd killed her. Whether the person who'd wanted her dead had been inside the jail with her, or had contracted the hit from the outside, it didn't matter.

The voice said that they would notify them when they were ready to release his sister's body. The voice gave him a phone number for a government information line that could help him with the process of getting his sister's body out of the prison morgue.

Chris didn't write it down.

"My condolences on your loss," the woman said.

Chris hung up the phone without further comment. He sat as the day darkened to night, trying not to think, until he felt steady enough to go tell the rest—the last—of his family.

Kate—his beautiful, deadly sister—was done.

 

.../fin

* * *

**RESEARCH & RELATED FACTOIDS**

**Justifications for Things I Wanted to Do Anyway**

Given canon’s bizarre chronology, (Timeline? What’s a timeline?) I ignored all dates and time markers in show except the ones I want to include (or that make at least a tiny bit of sense). I figure the Winter Formal takes place in March 2011, so all my other dates are based on that. Also, I started writing this before having watched Seasons 5 and 6, so many of those events, characters and their backstories are not factored into this story.

Also, I decided to make Derek 16 at the time of his relationship with Kate and the fire. I know fandom is divided on this thanks to the many inconsistencies within the series, but my initial thought when watching Season 1, was that Derek had been 16, and most of the canonical evidence seems to support him being about that age, so I stuck to it.

**Beacon County Sheriff's Office**

According to the [2012 Bureau of Justice Statistics' Census of State and Local Law Enforcement Agencies (CSLLEA)](https://www.bjs.gov/content/pub/pdf/csllea08.pdf), there are nearly 18,000 law enforcement agencies in the US, employing around 1.1 million people. Sheriff Stilinski, as a member of US law enforcement, has a _huge_ pack.

Because Sheriff Stilinski is the main focus of my story, I needed to know more about how a sheriff’s office would work in California. I must thank Nyxelestia for the heads up on the size/make-up of the Beacon County Sheriff’s Office. (BTW, _[Winter Wolves](http://archiveofourown.org/series/312872)_ , Nyxelestia’s fusion of Teen Wolf and Marvel Cinematic Universe, is wonderful! I recommend it.)

The sheriff's office is only ever shown as this small, one-floor building, with room for (maybe) 20 deputies on rotating shifts. However, Show specifically states the population as 30,000 in the town and 500,000 for the county as a whole. Research says the average ratio of law enforcement staff for a population the size of Beacon County is 24.4 total staff for every 10,000 citizens ([ratio](http://www.governing.com/topics/public-justice-safety/gov-cities-police-officers-hiring.html)) ([table](http://www.governing.com/gov-data/safety-justice/law-enforcement-police-department-employee-totals-for-cities.html)) This means Beacon Hills (the county) would have around 900 police officers and 300 support staff (clerks, dispatchers, and other civilians).

I needed to find a completely logical way to ignore over 95% of the police force.

Beacon Hills’ chronic staff shortage meant I made up rural stations elsewhere housing the bulk of the police force, and then essentially ignored them. I also decided that most of the uniformed deputies would rotate through patrol, court duty & prisoner escort, so we wouldn't actually see them. Problem solved.

Tara Graeme’s long tenure as a deputy is canon (3.09, _The Girl Who Knew Too Much_ ). The hiring dates of the other canon deputies aren’t specified in show except for Jordan Parrish who showed up after the reactivation of the Nemeton in season 3A, much too late for this fic.

As much as possible, I tried to use canon names for my deputies, meaning I found them on IMDb. The unflappable Sergeant Augustin “Gus” Trejo is completely my creation.

Speaking of Sergeant Trejo…

**Origami Howling Wolves**

Why yes, they do exist. I got my eldest spawn to make me one. It wasn’t easy, and she’s never made another one. If you want to try, this is the video she used: [https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=4jYOOk-cJj0](https://www.youtube.com/%20watch?v=4jYOOk-cJj0)

**Quotes and Other Factoids Used for Inspiration (Not Procrastination)**

The zombie research paper is real. <https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2789162/>

Professor Robert Smith? (the question mark is part of his name) of University of Ottawa’s Department of Mathematics uses the zombie apocalypse to teach his students about how to research the data needed to make predictive calculations while factoring all the variables.

I listened to an interview with Dr. Smith? a long time ago. He said his main source material was _Shawn of the Dead_ because they had already done the research and put the most common tropes in the movie. (heh—good choice!) It’s probably because of that interview that I always remember the paper exists.

Lydia’s quote about vengeance is from _Henry VI._ It’s one of Shakespeare’s plays I’ve never actually seen. There’s a lot of talking about vengeance, so I imagine that everyone dies in the end.

The sheriff’s idea of turning “the alpha’s alpha” into alfalfa I got from KouriArashi’s excellent series _[The Sum of Its Parts](https://archiveofourown.org/series/31577)_. I don’t remember which story they used it in, but probably _The One You Feed_ , since it deals with the alpha pack.

In my story, Allison's gets the new Argent Code from Brandon Sanderson's _The Way of Kings_ (2010). <http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Quotes/TheStormlightArchive>. I did not know there was anything out there so similar to the one she says in Show until I went hunting for the exact words.

If I quoted dialogue from show, I probably found the correct words here: <http://transcripts.foreverdreaming.org/viewforum.php?f=137>

 


End file.
